B 3 325 3bM /^/'/ ' • ^v///r/// // r~ f/ o SIR RALPH WILLOUGHB? SIR RALPH WILLOUGHBY: AN HISTORICAL TALE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. IN WHICH ARE INSERTED THE DEDICATORY SONNETS OF EDMUND SPENSER, AVITH SKETCHES OF CHARACTER, BY THE AUTHOR OFCONWGSBY FLORENCE PRINTED BY I. MAGHERI l820. ::-•■■*.•. PREFACE J. he readers of the English publications, which for the last forty or fifty years hale gone under the name of Novels , will here find nothing to their taste. This Tale is intended for those , whose minds have been formed in a different school. A vehicle has been sought for the conveyance of those sentiments of the heart y with which every age and every a r* O 6 country can sympathise: which come home to us in those mo- ments of reflection, when sor- row and disappointment teach us to be serious and wise : which j when the wild exu- berance and blind vanity of youthful hope have subsided , are hailed by all those , whose bosoms are capable of being ameliorated by time y or whose heads are capable of being taught by experience. The subject chosen on the present occasion is partly His- torical : but the Hero is ima- 7 ginary. An ideal person has been placed amid real scenes ; and real characters. The advantages of Fiction over History in elucidating general truths have been too often ex- plained to permit the repetition of them. He j who is confined to the relation of what has actually happened \ in telling what is true in particular ins- tances, may be confined to tell^ what /snot generally true: the author, who invents with pro- bability^ freed from such tram- mels j can better exemplify 8 -what is of universal import. In a portrait the merit is in particularity ; in a fiction , the reverse. The author , whose ambition is to adapt his writings to a wide circulation , would per- haps do ill to choose the pre- sent plan. If the common Novel- readers will little relish it from its not affording any mirror of modern manners ; nor any love-intrigue ; nor any surprizing adventures of Beings, who never could have existed; and forms and fashions of so- • 9 ciety , that never could have taken place , in any age, in any country , the more sober reader will refuse to take it up , because he sees it in the shape of a Tale ; and there- fore deems it too light for his graver and more sober studies ! The interest of Narrative is either in the truth of the facts r (to which history is confined); or in their character ? their combination and development ; and the picturesque force with which they are presented ; or lastly in the just and touching IO reflections naturally springing from them, by which they are accompanied. To this last interest only the present production aspires. By the second sort of in- terest it will be said that the greatest genius is shewn ; and the most powerful ins- pressions are made . But as there are endless diversities in the duties and purposes of the human mind, so use and excellence ought not to be li- mited to one species of intel- lectual display. It is the task 1 1 of some to exhibit the appea- rances and symptoms of mo- ral movements; of others , to reason upon their causes and effects . JVe live in an age of lite- rary charlatanism : what is simple and natural has little chance of making its way: we are all for glare , and novelty, and wonder: we like the ex* tremes of the most laboured and distorted artifice , and of the most childish or most bar- barous nakedness : we wish to persuade ourselves , that 12 we have for the first time found out the paths of excel- lence / and arrived at the due fruits of Genius. Charlatans in every age are successful for a lit tie while. There was a time, when Marino had thrown into obscurity and neglect the works and names of Dante and of Petrarch ! I 1 ill autho- rity supersedes taste, the Mob will always be wrong! A dull appetite requires to be excited by the strongest mixtures. The Dedicatory Sonnets of Spenser are here introduced, i3 not for the purpose , as some will suppose , of filling up the pages , but of bringing them into more general notice y and to do fresh honour to those , whom they commemorate. They are marked by a singular fi- delity of features , which per- haps is their principal merit. They bring to life persons , whom the testimony of Spenser alone is sufficient to prove wor- thy of lasting fame. If it be pleaded that a Tale of Fiction is not the best channel, by which to recall their memo- i4 ries, it may be answered, that it affords opportunities which may justify and embody pro- bable conjecture , when suffi- cient evidence is wanting to make it a part of positive biography . If the spirit of the Times, in which the scenes are laid, is misrepresented y if Truth in its general character at this period is perverted , the use of Fiction is badly chosen, and bad- I)' applied : but if the result of the whole is a picture ap- propriate as well as animated, then some advantage is deri- ved from this mode of convey- ing instruction. The freedom^ the selection, the force of sen- timent , the vigour of expres- sion , which it allows , give it a superiority over the narrower boundaries of recorded facts . In choosing the sober cha- racters of History to form the personages of a Romance , the author incurs a hazard of dull- ness % above which the airy Beings of Imagination would easily raise him. But there is a time for all things : we cannot al~ i6 ways travel in the clouds: we must sometimes be content with more tranquil and humble ex- cursions : our flagging wings require a repeated return to repose upon the firm earth. The author has not been unfamiliar with such excursions ; but he thinks it as undesirable, as it is impossible , always to in- dulge in them. As to busy , crowded, and intricate plot y well contrived and fortunate rencontres, which ly violent excitement and stri- king contrasts keep up the *7 reader s strong interest in al- ternations of painful suspence and delighted discovery , merits of this kind can only be reached by an high species of magical genius y and de- serve all the praise , which a reader of enlightened taste can bestow upon them ! But this ought not to exclude the value, or the desert, or the praise of other sorts of intellectual pro- duction ! Nor are more simple stories, and more simple mo- des of combining incidents , without some advantages over i8 them! They do not in the same degree lose their interest by a repeated perusal: the know lege of the story does not decrease the force of the sentiments or the images : as nothing depends on novelty and surprize, so a frequent re- currence but proves their stir- ling value , and solidity of basis. They rest on the essen- tial ore of the ingredients: not on the ingenuity of the form given by the workman* ft was said that the author of the Pursuits of Literature *9 wrote tJie Text of his poem as a peg to hang his Notes upon. He who has filled his mind by years of incessant reflection, operating on a mo- ral and acute sensibility, may he justified in seeking various modes of embody ing and com- municating part of those stores, with which his intellect over- flows. There are thousands of nice distinctions / of forcible and convincing remarks; of pathetic or amiable and in- structive sentiments ; which may thus be brought forward and preserved, and be expres- sed with a clearness, a felicity, or a glow of language, that would otherwise have never risen , or have vanished with the rapidity of the clouds . Let the reader , who can sympathise with a virtuous and generous emotion, or a no- ble resolve of heart , or a su- blime conclusion of thought , answer , if he does not feel ameliorated and elated , when he meets with these pictured records of ideal excellence ! The knowlege of the Story -will not much diminish wha- tever interest there may be in these passages. Yet the Narra- tive is the best mode by which they could have been introduc- ed ; and often the only mode by which they would have been suggested! Are these then the idle oc- cupations of an Understanding, which Age ought to have ma- tured ? or are they not rather the mellow fruits , which the 22 experience of Time will jus- tify p It is not in youth, that our moral opinions take that depth of colouring j those prevailing marks of sincerity, which the long sufferings of humanity , -which disappointment \ and the vanity of possession , inflict on us . If the production of a com- mon Novel seems among the easiest achievements of litera- ture, because it is daily ma- nufactured by the most Mite- 23 rate and stupid of those who hold a pen, it must not be sup- posed, that to execute this sort of composition well, requires slight talents! The author of Guy Mamie- ring , etc. has shewn of late years , to 'what an height of genius , and of inexhaustible invention, prose romances may be carried! This work , as it has been said , aspires to no such crea- tive richness : it is intended as a vehicle of moral and his- H torical remarks; which not- withstanding the volume may be confounded by the ignorant with common Novels , will not on that account , if they are intrinsically just ? lose their interest with the judicious. S. E. B. Florence 17 April 1820. RALPH WILLOUGHBY A T A L E jLXalpb Willoughby was the third of sir sons of Sir Charles .V ; l : oaghby fi.iight, who used the title of Lord Ufiuinton., though thathonour had been attainted aud forfeited, in consequence of his Father's concern in the Northern rebellion of the Earls of Westmoreland and Northum- berland . These misfortunes had forced Lord Uf- fington abroad; and there he had passed many years of his life in comparative obscurity . He had wandered from the Netherlands through France, Germany r t 2 Switzerland, and Italy . His children had thus received a varied and enlarged edu- cation j and were all accomplished, as far as their native talents would admit . Ralph had shewn more abilities than the rest; a much greater quickness iu learning; and a more active and acute spirit of remark . But he was supposed to be rfttjtjc moody m ii's temper; and less compliant to the manners and habits of society, than his brothers. What recommended him especially to his father's favour and notice was a plain- tive yet indignant resentment oi the ad- versity and fallen state of his family. The mode in which he felt, and excited interest, on this subject, gave it a sort of character of romance . Lord Uffington made every effort to obtain Q. Elizabeth's reconciliation and 3 forgiveness : but the Queen was stern; and little inclined to feel the emotions of compassion . He had another obstacle in his way : he was of the blood of the DeUipoleS) who were a proscribed race. The utmost concession he couid pro- cure was a licence to his sons to visit Eng- land; and to endeavour by courses of fidelity aud loyalty to lay the grounds of future mercy . Ralph, in particular, was fixed upon by his Father for this purpose: and his slender means were strained to enable him to do it with effect . Lord UfGngton had a very high opinion of Ralph's ge- nius : and trusted to the fruits of it, in worldly advancement, with the fondest and brightest anticipations. Ralph was as ambitious and as san- 4 guine, as his father would have him to be : but there was not an exact agree- ment in their ideas of ways and means . Each was so fearful of a clearer understand- ing upon this subject,- and so desirous to delude himself that, each carefully avoid- ed pressing the other to be explicit. Ralph was far from being at his ease in England . He made no progress among persons of consequence : he gained no notice for his talents. He was deficient in that apparent compliance with the genius and conduct of others, which is the graad mean of worldly success . He trusted to reason, to eloquence, to the consciousness of rectitude. It is always as dangerous to be above, as to be below the age, in which we live. Wilioughby's very qualities of preeinin- 5 ence were in his way . His talents raised envy and hatred; his birth caused equal disinclination towards him . It was denied, that the long line of illustrious blood, that flowed in his veins, gave any pretension to distinction, or fa- vour . Actual wealth ; immediate posses- sion of place ; or power, were asserted to be the only practical titles to preference in the distribution of promotion, honours 5 confidence, employment. Yet the men "who set forth these grouuds of favourit- ism, gave themselves the most insolent airs of birth to those, who were their inferiors iu descent, but their superiors in wealth. There were certain new families in thosi; days, as in these, who endeavoured to bear down all by the weight of purse. An accident at length introduced 6 Ralph into the acquaintance of the Mi- nister Lord Burleigh . That Minister had oeeasion for a young man familiar wiih the manners of a particular Court. Ralph had spent several of his early years there. A friend took the opportunity of intro- ducing him upon that ground. Lord Burleigh listened to his answers on the questions put to him with pro- found attention . He was pleased with his clearness; and the sagacity of his re- marks . The character of one person es- pecially, of whom Lord Burleigh required particulars, was given with so much vi- vacity, and discrimination, that the old statesman began to think, that Ralph might be of especial service to him. He took him into favour: the period was critical .-sagacity, deep insight, varied knowlege, were requisite: the routine of 7 office failed : the foresight, which could judge of future conduct in untried si- tuations, was demanded. Lord Burleigh found Ralph equal to the occasion. Ralph now for a time ruled over the Minister's bureau. His ascendancy had too broad a light, not to daunt his com- petitors W the same office. Ralph's for- tune seemed made: he thought so him- self. A daughter of Burleigh cast favou- rable eyes on him: the Minister himself seemed to wink at it. When the occasion had passed, Ralph relapsed into intellectual pursuits more congenial to his nature. He always re- turned in a short time from the thorny paths of politics in disgust. He gave him- self up to the composition of a poem, in which there was a mingled enthusiasm, in favour of romantic love and heroic birth, Meantime the common duties of office were neglected ; while the clouds, that had been gathering on the Continent a- gainst England, were dispersed. — The men of common minds, and vulgar bu- siness, again raised their heads 3 and re sumed their courage. An intrigue was now formed to oust Ralph from Burleigh's confidence. Ralph , careless , self-relying, without craft, and without management, either overlooked , or disdaip.ed, the net; that were gathering round him. f Ie neither concealed his propensities } uor his dis- gusts. He circumvented no enemy : he boldly came forward with open arms a- gainst him. His poetical talents were slily enlarged upon to Burleigh on every occasion. Bur- leigh hated poetry : he thought that it 9 was a disqualification for all that was solid in the conduct of life. He disliked it still more , because it was the passion of his enraged son-in-law, Edward Yere, Earl of Oxford. The history of the quarrel between the Old Statesman and the poetical Peer yet remains in some obscurity. It is said that the Earl , in resentment for Bur* leigh's refusal to save the Duke of Nor- folk , vented his anger upon the Coun- tess^ and dissipated his fortune that he might beggar her children. The story is out of all probability. Who would greatly injure himself directly , that he might iniure another more remotely ; and in a less degree ? — Oxford was a capricious character, vain; proud; and perhaps unprincipled . The more rational conjecture is , that his conduct was instigated by complicated causes . He had perhaps married Burleigh's daughter from motives of interest. The fortunes of his illustrious House were in some degree of decay: the political con- sequence of the old families was also de- clining under Burleigh. Oxford might hope that this alliance would re-instate him: and give facilities to his aspiring ambition: while the minister, a new man , might be anxious to cover his new" honours by the marriage of his daughter with a Peer, perhaps the most ancient and illustrious in birth , of all the Eng- lish nobility. Expectation is almost always disap- pointed. Possession and familiarity might bring chagrin on boih sides . Burleigh could scarcely behold the qualities of 11 Oxford's mind, brought under the expan- sion of the sun, without discomfort; and afterwards when ill will had commenced, without abhorrence and disgust. There is nothing, which this class of men hate, like fancy and sentiment. The whole dis- cipline of their intellects is bent to di- vest every object, and every idea, of e- very colour thrown upon them by these creative influences. They think Poetry not only devoid of superiority , but a positively false and delusive Art. Now and then they are heard to cite a coup- let, or three or four verses, with praise: but examine the character of that cita- tion : it will be found to be some drj* precept ; some practical axiom ; which has nothing of the character of poetry but the metre; and nothing of the beau- ty of expression but terseness. 12 It is not here meant to bring forward Lord Oxford as a great genius ; or of any striking poetical merit. Though per- haps he ought only to be classed among the minor wits , he had wit enough to be the fair object of Lord Burleigh's dis- taste . Ralph Willoughby, though a lover of similar walks of literature, was not on cordial terms with Lord Oxford. He found this nobleman too reserved $ too affected; too selfish. Let me be excused, after what I have said, for introducing here Two of Spenser's Sonnets , prefi- xed to the Fairy Queen ; the accuracy of which may now be duly appreciated , while they will furnish proof of the fi- delity of my portraits. i3 SONNET To the right honourable , the Lord Burleigh, Lord High Treasurer of England . To vou, right noble Lord, whose careful breast To menage of most grave affairs is bent; And on whose mighty shoulders most doth rest The burden of this Kingdom's government^. As the wide compass of the Firmament On Atlas 1 mighty shoulders is upstaidj Unfitly I these idle rhymes present, The labour of lost time, and wit unstaid: Yet, if their deeper sense be inly weighM; And the dim veil, with which from common view Their fairer parts are hid, aside be laid., Perhaps not vain they may appear to you! Such as they be, vouchsafe them to receive^ And wipe their faults out of your censure grave- Edmcsd Spexsek. id The sarcasm at Burleigh for his con- tempt of poetry, is here sufficiently ap- parent; he calls it ironically « The labour of lost time, and wit unstaid: » then goes on slily to defend it against this insinuation . SONNET To the Right Honourable, the Earl of Oxenford, High Chamberlain of England, etc. Receive, most noble Lord, in gentle gree The unripe fruit of an unready wit,- "Which by thy countenance doth crave to be Defended from foul Envy's poisonous bit: Which so to do doth thee right well befit, Sith th 1 antique glory of thine ancestry Under a shady veil is therein writ; And eke thine own long-living memory i5 Succeeding them in true nobility,- And also for the love, which thou dost bear To th' Heliconian Imps, audthey to thee! They uuto thee, and thou to them most dear ! Dear as thou art uito thyself: so love That loves and honours thee, as doth behove! EdHDIO Sf£>SER« I think it cannot be questioned that the two last lines of this Sonnet contain a sarcasm, as strong as that in the passage of the former Sonnet pointed at Burleigh. It was against Burleigh that the follow- ing well-known and beautiful passage of this Poet's Mother Hubberd's Tale was levelled . Full little knowen thou, that hast not tried, "YY hat hell it is in suing loug to bide j To lose good days, ; h t might be better spent j To Tvaste long nights in pen-ive discontent^ To speed to day, to be put back to-morrow i6 To feed on hope; to pine witft fear an J sorrow ; To have thy Prince 1 s grace; yet want her Peer's; To hare thy asking, yet wait many years; To fret thy -soul with crosses and with cares; To eat thy heart with comfortless despairs; To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run; To spend, to give, to want, to be undoue! It was at this time, and under the pre- valence of these notions, that the secret enemies of Ralph WiJloughby disclosed to Burleigh the extent of his addiction to poetical pursuits . They procured surreptitiously the outline of his Poem, and many large extracts . This composition abounded with Imaginary Personages , designed with a free and glowing pencil: and luxuriating in ideal Beings, in which the fancy knows that it is dealing with excellence unat- tainable in the human form. '7 It was the purpose of the betrayers ol this poem, to give it a literal interpreta- tion , political , or personal. A pretence was made to give a construction to numerous passages . by which the life ot Burleigh was said to be alluded to; audi not only bitterly censured, hoX libelled. Even the atrocious falsehood was hazard- ed, that this mode was taken to betray secrets abroad, learned from Burleigh in hh coivOdential capacity . To add plau- sibility to this, and at the same time to aggravate his treachery, it was insinuated that Ralph was nothing more than a spy for the Foreign Interests, in which his Family had formerly been engaged ', and that a variety of Cabinet-secrets were thus to be laid open to them; while there thus seemed to be an impunity in the i8 transaction; and an impossibility to brine tbe treason home to him. It required much iugenuity to give any appearance, and, stiil more, any con- sistency, to these charges. Three or four very subtle heads, easily found in Bur- leigh's Household, did this . They em- ployed themselves a -whole winter in constructing it. They had emissaries in the family of Lord Uffington abroad : and they procured by briberv the agency of a person, who had formerly, when a young man, been in the Northern Rebellion with the Lords Westmoreland and Nor- thumberland . Burleigh was now growing very old; and his faculties were beginning to decay. He was fully conscious of the intrigues, the caution, the industry, the artifices, *9 by which he himself had been successful; and he knew therefore that for that path of preeminence there was no rest . By the sanie modes as he had triumphed over others, would others triumph over him, the moment he relaxed his exertions. His latter days therefore were not days of dignified repose, but of tormenting anxiety. He had now become not merely cautions, and inquisitive, but morbidly suspicious, and fretful. Such a scheme as Ralph's enemies had formed, could not at an earlier period have had a chanct of success. Burleigh's last daughter had for some time encouraged the addresses of Ralph. It was flattering to a young man , the younger son of a ruined family, to be thus distinguished . Gersenda Cecil was a perfect coquet ; lively, sensible, saga- 20 cious, witty. She had a brown, but deaf complexion, expressive eyes, and good features. Her person was small, but de- licately made. When Ralph was in her father's highest favour, she was struck with his talents, his person, and his manners. She began then to please her- elf with the lustre of his birth; and to see in him the revival of all ihe honours, and all the power, of his family. Ralph had strongly in his mind his father's wishes and injunctions. He saw fully all the advantages of this alliance: his sanguine temper fancied, in what he wished, all that his judgment ought to approve. He began to be in love with the ereatureofhisimagination.Gersenda took, in his mind, colours which did not be- long to her: and he worshiped the idol formed by his own brain. 2 1 The plotters against the esteem , m which he had hitherto been held by Burleigh, now began to perceive that they had made some impression on the opinions of the Old Statesman . He said to himself « the verses shewn to me are certainly W illou.vhby's composit'on: they are many of them in his own hand- writing; and they are so marked with erasures and corrections, as to prove that they cannot be copies . This I t' ke to be strong prima facie presumption against the young man . When I took him into my ser\ice, I had not a suspicion that he had this silly turn . I lay it down as a rule, which scarcely admits of an excep- tion, that no mon continues for any time fit for business; or is ever to be relied upon for that patient perseverance 9 by which aloue success in the management $1 of human affairs is secured, — who is tinged by the mania of this empty pur- suit . cc I hove been tolerably lucky in the world : I have raised myself from a very moderate station, into rank, and affluence, and power, such as few subiects have so long enjoypd in England; especially in tempestuous times The I\ation,andI may add, Europe generally, have given me credit for abilities , and wisdom . I am well aware that these qualities, if I possess them , have had but one source . It is labour: well directed and unrelaxing labour ! the labour of separating truth from falsehood; of stripping all the ob- jects of life of their disguises; of seeing things, not as they first appear; but as cold examination , and reflection prove them to be! a3 « Is it not the business of Poetry to do the d'rect contrary of this ? Does it not seek for delusions? Docs it not en- deavour to prolong false colours? cc But while I have succeded, who are the men, that have failed? Men, who taunted me in youth! men, with whom in quickness , in fancy « in the empty faculty, called eloquence, 1 could no more vie than an owl with an eagle ! How often has Buckhurst bowed with humility beneath my sager knowlege! How otten has Sydney trembled bpneath my frown ! How often has Raleigh turned defeated from my penetrating look ! « It is char then, that Ralph Willough- by, whether there be any hidden meaning in his verses, or not. is not fit for my con- fidence ! But whatever I may privately think, my sagacity is not so much decay- $4 ed, as to be insensible to tbe motives ot his accusers. To them I will not discover the conclusions, to which I have come . I have made one mistake by admitting this young man into the recesses of my Cabinet : I will not commit another by letting these plotters into the know T lege that, through their means, I have convict- ed myself of an error J the Countess of Pembroke. Remembrance of that most heroic Spirit, The Heaven's pride; the glory of our days; (rit "W^'ch now triumpheth through imn.ortalme Of his brave virtues, crowu'd with lasting hays , Of heavenly bliss, and everlasting praise ,• VVho first my Muse did lift out of the floor, To sing his sweet delights in lowly lays, Bids me, most Noble Lady, to adore His goodly image, living evermore In the divine resemblance of your face: "Which with your virtues ye embellish more, And native beauty deck with heavenly grace. For his, and for your own especial sake, (take ! Vouchsafe from him this token in good part to Edmund Speinslr. 55 If Ralph "Willoushbv could have Otherwise forgotten the fame and splen- dor of Sir Philip Sydney, he had a daily memorial of it, while living in the House of Essex. This nobleman had married Sydney's widow; the daughter of Sir Francis Walsingham : a lady, who lived to obtain a third husband, (after having lost the first in battle • and the second, on a scaffold y) - the Marquis of Clanricknrd . Sir Francis V> ahingham was also a Kentish man; and lived in the neigh- bourhood of Cobham-Hall . — His cha- racter as a Statesman in this reign stands high . I know not that he has left any proofs of genius: his political abilities were good: but abilities and genius are very dissimilar qualities . He dues not seem to have had the 56 dislike of poetry, which was entertain- ed by Burleigh . On the contrary, Spenser's pen has recorded , that he was a « Mecenas »> of his age . He must not be defrauded of the honour of this eulogy. Who would not sacrifice much to be memorialized in such immortal words? His name has long passed from the living : yet it shall hover over us in brighter colours, than the living can enjoy ! 5 7 SONNET To the right honourable, Sir Francis JValsingham, Knight, principal Secretary to her Majesty: and of her honourable Privy Council, T'hat'Mantuan Poet's incompared spirit, Whose girland now is set in highest plaee, Had not Mecenas, for his worthy merit, It first advanced to great Augustus 1 grace, Might long perhaps hare lien in silence base, Ne been so much admired of later age. This lowly Musi^, that learns like steps to trace. Flies for like aid unto your patronage, That are the great Mecenas of this age, As well to all that civil arts profess, As those, that are inspired with martial rage$ And eraves protection of her feebleness: "Which if ye yield, perhaps ye may her raise In bigger tones to sound your living praise. Edmcs£> S»e>se.r, m It was on the fifth day after Ralph's arrival at Gobham , that , ou leaving his chamber in the morning, he per- ceived all the servants of the mansion in a bustle. More than ordinary pre- parations were making for the entertain- ment of the day. He found that the Lord Admiral , Charles Howard, Earl of Nottingham, was expected to dinner. Ralph was well acquainted with the character of this old man, whose pride and vanity were excessive; and who delighted in pomp. Cobham was wil- ling to Heat him in his own way; and light and foolish as he was himself, to plav with the other's foibles. His arrival was attended by his ac- customed pageantry: and he loaded the company, according to their rank, with a profusion of compliments. To the Earl of Norhumbertand, above all, he was entire devotion The mode , in whirh he addressed Raleigh was sufficiently ridiculous to bye-standers of arute observation . He considered Raleigh as a new man and an upstart; — but in spite of the unbounded in- solence of a puny mind, inebriated with prosperity and honours, vet always en- deavouring to d : squise it under the thin veil of a fulsome civility , he trembled, end sunk before the daring eye , and undaunted courage of Ra- leigh . His person had been very handsome; his heroirm had been displayed in the defeat of the Spanish Armada. These are the topics on which Spenser ju- diciously seized, as the foundation of his panegyric . m SONNET To the right honourable, the Lord Ch. Howard. High Admiral of Eng- land , Knight of the noble order of Gartei\ and one of her Majesty's Vrivy Council, etc. And ye, brave Lord, whose goodly personage, And uoble deeds, each other garnishing , Make yon en sample to the present age Of th 1 old heroes, whose famous offspring The antique poets wont so mueh to sing, In this same pageant have a worthy place; Sith those same Castles (a) of Castilian King, That vainly threatened Kingdoms to displace, Like flying doves, ye did before you chase : And that proud People, woxen insolent TIi rough many victories, did first deface; Thy praise's everlasting monument \s in this verse engraven semblably; TUat it may live to all posterity . En sic xiv Spkkser. (a) The Spanish: Armada. m 6i Raleigh had been more than once under his command ; but considered him, as a mere feather, put for shew at the head of the expeditions. The Lord Admiral quitted Cobham the next morning: and Pvalph was now left to R-iIeigh's maneuvres . Raleigh had a strong desire to make use of Ralph for a double purpose . He thought he could sift out of him some of the secrets both of the Houses of Burleigh , and Essex . He mistook the nature as well of Ralph's understand- ing, as of his disposition. He affected to take Ralph into his confidence; and to display to him some of the treasures of his mind . He found in this youthful pupil ara extent of profound observation, at which he was astonished » Never off his guard, 62 yet sometimes breaking into bursts of copious eloquence , he was equal to the Master that would probe him ; because be had tasked his abilities to meet the occasion, of which he fully perceived the danger. The effect upon Raleigh's opinions was the reverse of what he had expect- ed . He could discover nothing from the Penetralia of the Statesmen, Avhose secrets he desired to know, but what was wise, honourable, and generous . On the other hand, Ralph felt his Yeneration for Raleigh a little diminish- ed . He said to himself « there is so- rnttimes a Guesse in what this threat man says, that clouds its force , and renders its wisdom doubtful . Truth , and v7;,4*e, and simplicity , are the only sources of genuine eloquence; 63 sncT can alone bring wilh them any lasting persuasion, or conviction . Th« brilliance of distorted ingenuity soon ceases to please : and in a little time dis- gusts . Raleigh has too exclusive a con- fidence iu himself: he would monopol' ze all favour; and is too apt to thirik no other man capable of properly go- verning the State. I do not love Bur leigh : I never could love him: I have now, alas , too much reason to hate him ! — But 1 am not insensible to hi* numerous statesman-like qualities . To Essex Raleigh is still less excusable in his bitterness: nor does he duly esti- mate the talents, or the heart of this amiable , but imprudent nobleman. ^ Raleigh communicated to Ralph some political secrets, real or pi -nded, to which Ralph's understanding and 6| iutelligence were little inclined to give full credit. The most surprising thing to him was Raleigh's pretension to the confidence of Sir Robert Cecil, Burleigh's favourite son . He did not dare tell Raleigh that he Was a dupe ; nor could he altogether bring himself to think that he was in fact so. But if Raleigh was sincere and accurate in his relations, he could not be otherwise . Sometimes the most cunning men overreach them- selves; and are the victims of those, whom they would deceive. At this time there were numerou, busy and conflicting intrigues going on with the Scotch Monarch. Raleigh thought that he had played his part so well s as to be secure of the King's favour, when he should ascend the Brit is h throne ■ Ralph smiled, from a koowlege 65 that the same confidence was entertained by the opposite parties of Burleigh , and of Essex . It was one of Raleigh's purposes to persuade Ralph to undertake a secret commission to the Scotch Court . This proposal was received by him with cold- ness and dislike . He had been too much behind the curtain; and he knew too well the difficulty of such a task . He had had peculiar opportunities of becoming ac- quainted with the character of King James. He had discovered that this Prince was fickle, pusillanimous, deceitful; and that from a pedantic turn of intellect he was ignorant how to deal with man- kind; and was always likely to sacrifice those, who had any transactions with, him . He expressed these opinions cautiously 66 to Raleigh, who smiled with a sort of gentle and suppressed contempt at his suspicions ; as if sure of his own arrangements; and exultiug in his pro- spective wisdom . « Such « said Ralph to himself « is human blindness in the most highly (lifted ! » Sir Robert Cecil , who knew all that was going forward wherever active spirits were met together, had intellig- ence of Ralph's arrival at Cobham , before he had been ihere twenty four hours. He was not well pleased at this rencontre with Raleigh, and had a spy in Cobham's house, who conveyed to him, with a great deal of misconstruc- tion, several of the conversations, which had passed between these two . Cecil had kept up some outward appearance of friendship wtth Ralph, 6> notwithstanding the rupture with his father . He was well assured of Ralph's rectitude of principles: but he could not believe him a match for the search- ing capacity , and long and varied experience of Raleigh . He felt that Ralph could communicate many things, of which the discovery to Raleigh might be ruin to himself. Ralph's mind was now in a tumult from the variety of now observations, that had forced themselves upon him. Active life seemed to be a chaos of conflicting elements. He felt a desire for a short solitude , that he might have an opportunity of digesting his remarks. He quitted Cobham; and re- tired to a cottage in Whichwood Fo- rest f with which he had become 6$ acquainted in one of his excursions with Lord Essex . The Grst escape from the disgust , or restraint of artificial society, into free air, and silence, aud the beautiful scenes of Nature , is exultation , and unmingled delight . Then come regret at time lost ; anger at ambitious desires, at once unvirtuous and painful ; and tows never again to wander beyond the paths of obscure content . The mists began to disperse from the ob- jects of the mind, which had obtruded themselves with such clouded force upon his imagination . "Grandeur, « said he, « is not the path of virtue . Success and a pure conscience are incompatible. It is intrigue, and plot that succeeds : and he, who unites the most audacity 6g with the deepest design wins the game, From Burleigh to Essex; from Essex to Raleigh, it is all a bed ol thorns. B.estless and incessant caution ; indignant resent- ment; scornful pretensions; and over- weeniag confidence ! « It seems to me madness in him , who can command a competence, to embark on these troubled oceans. It is for our posterity alone, that we feel the stimulus of emerging from obscu- rity. If I could resolve to lead a single life , I should have no hesitation to restrain myself for the remainder of my days to a literary solitude. I could create a Paradise for myself; and the wealth of the mind should outshine that of courts and palaces . But, oh, the con- tradiction of human wishes ! The soft eyes of this cottage-girl^ the daughter of 7° my host, tell me , that singleness is not the life for me ! -< Fair Rosalinde; why lookest thou so archly and so sweetly upon one, who would close his eye* and his heart against tender impressions! Thy cunning sees that I admire that blooming facej and those young hopes, which hive yet received no chill ! — » He spent a fornight in rambling about the wildest p-.ths of the forest . He form- ed a thousand romantic schemes of a life to be dedicated to stu ly , and com- position . He endevoured to forget the rank of his ancestors; and the habits of activity and peril, in which they had passed their days . At this time Sir Henry Wotton wrote to him a letter from Essex-House, ex- pressed in dark and enigmatical terms, hinting at the dangerous course of con- 7 l duet, which the Earl was pursuing : and intimating the rashness, with which lie involved his partisans in the chance of ruin. Ralph lamented, but was not sur- prised at this intelligence, fie congratu- lated himself on his distance from this scene of action ; and on the compaiative quiet and safety he was now enjoying . A long walk occupied by a profound and painful meditation on the impru- dences and probable fate of Essex, whom with ai! his errors and excesses he loved and admired, had so overcome him , that when he returned to his humble apartment in the cottage, he (ell asleep. The vision of Essex apppared to him . He looked pale as death : his neck was open; and stained with blood : he shook his disheveled locks; and casting on him a reproachful glance , cried : J1 « Ralph Willoughby! why desert me in my troubles ? It becomes not a generous mind to fly from the field of danger ! Skulk not in the woods, when the plain of battle is open to thy heroic spirit ! » A blast shrieked across the forest ', the vision fledj and Ralph awoke ! — He opened his eyes : a lovely figure stood by his side : a gentle voice enquir- ed, if he was ill. — It was Rosalinde . « Why ill, Rosalinde 1 » asked he . « O Sir ! » she answered ,* « you sighed , and muttered so loud, that we heard it in the next apartment ! and when I entered the room, you shook so , and the dew- drops sat so full upon your forehead, that you seemed to be in the height of a fever! » « It was only a dream, Rosa- linde, that disturbed me! » replied Ralph. — « But need we not regard dreams , n?> 7' Sir? w exclaimed Rosalinde. « They are the mere gambols of the Faucy , Rosa- linde! « he cried : said the other , "that he has an high confidence in his own power: and shall Ralph YVilloughby be bold enough to set him at defiance ? " Forbear this taunt. Lord Grey ! » replied Ralph: « I have neither defied, nor un- undervalued Sir Walter Raleigh . But you would make a despot of him . It is not arrogance, to retain one's independ- ence of mind . The career of ambition , that suits his daring genius, may not suit my humbler temper. There are BGeu, who delight to „Ride in the whirlwind,- anddirect the blast:,, but this is not congenial to my feebler spirit . cc -- cc Though Raleigh has an high opinion of your abititiesj» proceeded Lord G. 9° « he has not overlooked some defects, which he thinks may mar your career . He says , that you consider poetry too much of a business, rather than a mere ornament: he asserts, that this Enchanter ought to be taken as a misiress only; not as a wife : she may be dallied with ; but not your constant companion . « cc I certainly cannot subscribe to these sentiments: 11 said Ralph eagerly. It is from this very principle, that I bcleive R aleigh has failed in his poetical character. Truth is as much the essence of genuine Poetry, as it is of genuine Philosophy. ]f it be not the expression of real feelings; or of images really presented to the mind , it may please for a time by no- velty and marvel: but it will soon be forgotten. This is incontestably proved by an examination of the distinctive 9* merit of those ancient classical poets, whose fame has lasted longest . Art should be subordinate to the exhibition of Nature; not paramount to it. The imagination creates innumerable things, which exist not materially: but when it creates voluntarily , it always creates according to some uniform principle, by which a sympathy is found in the bosom of every reader. The monsters of the fancy, its forced and exravagant combi- nations, are odious to good taste. >? -- « Am I then to understand you « con- tinued Lord G. with a sneer, « that you abandon all for this Syren Poetry ? -- or perhaps for the little hlue-eyed girl of the cottage, that for the moment takes her place ! « « Leave me to myself, Lord Grev . w 9 2 cried Ralph angrily. « 1 have never in- terfered with you . » « What am I to tell Raleigh then? « « That 1 thank him for his good opi- nion: -- but that I am unequal to the task he proposes for me . » « « I submit, » said Lord Grey: *' but remember , that Raleigh would be a dangerous enemy. « Do not use threats, let us part in good humour ! threats, of all things, are most abhorrent to my patience! Be candid Lord Grey ! Open your mind to a greater variety of views of human af- fairs! cultivate the poetry you despise : it will make your blood flow in kindlier currents: it will give you a resting place in dis ippointment: it will set you ab ove the things you cannot command; not in a degrading struggle with them! » — Lord Grey turned his eyes earnestly on Ralph : a strange novelty of senti- ment glowed through his whole frame: he began to suspect that he had been groveling in a wrong path ; and that there was a communicable fire in Ralph, of which he hadhad no conception. Ralph saw that he had made an impression . « 1 ord Grey! ;, exclaimed he; U I caunot forget the illustrious blood , from whence you are sprung ! That genorous stream may be chilled , or frozen for a moment ! -- Misfortunes may arrest it: clcuds may envelop it : but its warmth will return ; its noble fUjne w r ill never die! Thou canst not forget, that Spenser dandled thee on his knee! Thou canst not forget, with what enthusiasm thy heroic father listened to his strains! He knew well the charm , and the force of 94 verse : he felt assured of its alliance to all the nobler impulses , that animate human actions; and esteemed rank base, and honours to be mockery, if unacom- pained by an ardent, melting heart , and refined and highly-instructed intellect ! Though riches were not showered upon him, the absence of this advantage did not make him discontented; but full of noble adventure! „ Lord Grey sighed and turned pale: a sensation of self-abasement was mingled with his pleasure at this glowing eulogy of his Father : to whom he looked up not merely with vanity, but with vene- ration . But it had certainly not hitherto produced the effects upon him , which Ralph wished to instil. " Well then Willoughby. „ he con- tinued: "may you be happy iu the 93 path of your own choice ! And I will endeavour to take lessons from you : for I see that I cannot contend with you ! I will deliver your message to B.aleigh j and use my efforts to persuade him, that you yourself are the hest judge of what you can undertake with success! ,. They took leave . Ralph was now again left to his own contemplations. He exulted at the decisive and indignant manner , in which he had rejected the odious proposition . To be the bearer of anv intelligence, by which he might be the instrument of injuring Essex with the persons in power, was the last act ot baseness , oi which he would have beea guilty. To him the course of intrigue adopted by the Faction ofCobham Hall was quite inexplicable, w hen he consider- ed the priaciples of action, by which he 94 O drop thy veil, Futurity! O close Mine ears to those heart-rending yells ! Along High-vaulted aisles, I hear the piercing cry Of furious Madness ! Rack again the shrieks Echo, and then redouble ! (2) Fated Lyre; If this he thy reward, I throw thee off! Snatch it, ye "Winds • Bury it deep ye Waves, In your profoundest beds : and let its charms, Accursed and accursing like a fiend, Lull me no more to such ineffable ills . (pies Blow fresh, thou Breeze: upon my heating tem- Play; and hang close with thy refreshing wings On my tumultuous breast. -Again the light Sits on old Albion's shores . The genial beams, Whom do they cherish?-Not an heart that beats For my misfortunes! Not an eye, that looks With fond regret on my departing form! •'One lingering remnant of those ancient stocks Of feudal nobles lied! tis well! lis gain To us: we strip the branches ; tear the leaves; And soon thelast writhed Stock,tho'decp its root, {1} Alluding to the fate of Collins io5 Shall wither in the ground! „- Thus speak th« crowd (cries Of new sprung Great J Thusswelling Commerce Deeming, where wealth is not all-p owerful, there Worth is defrauded of its rights, and this The lore, the halt'-faught Sase affects to teach ! Gav dancing Bark, bear onward! The dim line Of Albion's coast along the horizon marks, Where all mv hopes were wreek'd!-0 far away Bear me to scenes, in whose oblivions breast Memory may burv her impatient woes ! It fades : the last dim speck evaporates j And mingles with the skv ! Farewell, o Landj- Soil of my Fathers; mine, alas, no more! - Thus mused Ralph Willouehby, as the Ship gradually bore him out of the sight of the English coast . He felt for four days a revival of spi- rits from the new situation, in which he was placed, and the new objects, by which he was surrounded, The fresh air of the Oceau invigorated his languid frame. io6 On the fifth day the seamen were observed to be particularly watchful of the sky .The weatherwas very changeable: sometimes sudden clouds, gathered into mountains, hung with tremendous black nrss over the sea; and then, as suddenly dispersing, gave way to as clear, and beautiful a brilliance. Again a gloom would overspread the heavens; every breeze seemed to sleep; all was still; an aweful silence reigned; till at length a Tiollow murmur swept along the sky, and then ceased again. Ralph spoke to the Captain . He shook his head ; and intimated that a storm was brooding . The Sun set with a fiery red; and the sailors beheld it wistfully , and with ter- ror . Ralph retired to his hammock at the usual hour; and fell into a profound 107 sleep . Long before midnight,he was waiv- ed by the rolling of the vessel The wind roared frightfully among the shrouds; and a great bustle was heard upon deck. Then came a crash , as if the ship was going to pieces. He scarce had time to reflect where he was , when another crash came. The Ship had been driven among the rocks on the Cornish coast . He had scarcely time to reach the deck, when all was lost . Another crash -, and the Vessel w- at down . All was then confusion : Every one strove to attempt the shore; which some distant lights seemed to point out . Ralph , whether in a boat, or on an oar, he afterwards knew not, was, by some Pro- vidence, thrown upon the coast. His senses were gone; and he recollect- ed nothing, till he found himself on the io8 bed of a gloomy chamber in a strange house, so weak that he could not lift himself from his position; and so full of bruises , that he could scarcely take any posture without agony . He soon relapsed into sleep from mere debility? and when he waked again, his eyes opened upon two female attendants, who softly expressed their anxiety for his recovery . , wrapping it in an hand- kerchief; and slinking it over his should- n5 er br a rough stick taken from the hed* ges , he trudged along in the disguise of one of the meanest class of society . For a few miles he flattered himself, that his strength had rapidly revived: but at last he began to grow faint : he sat down: a dimness came before his eyes $ and his senses began to wander. He thou- ght he saw the waves of the sea approa- ching him in mountainous height ; and heard the roaring of the billows; and the groans of the sails and masts He rose; and endeavoured to run; but his legs failed him. A charitable peasant, seeing his feebleness and sick looks, took him in his cart; and delivered him to the hostess of the next town. He was car- ried , unconscious, to the hospital ,that luckily existed there. The managers of this establishment could gather nothing ii6 coherent from his conversation His mind and his tongue rambled most wildly for above a week. They suspected , that he was of a condition superior to his out- ward appearance : but there is an inge- nuity in madness, that is very delusive: and on this account they were not con- fident of any inferences regarding him , which they could draw. He had lucid intervals: but the refle- ction on his past misfortunes; and the terrific prospect of the future, soon cau- sed a relapse into a melancholy derange- ment. He imagined that he had commit- ted some great crime, which it was his intense care to conceal from those that surrounded him. But he thought that every one shunned , or hated him ; and he supposed that every neglect, every 1*7 grave look , afforded evidence that he had been discovered. Under a load of fancied guilt, he see- med impelled to struggle to recommend himself; and to prove that he was de- serving of a better fate. He perpetually talked as if he was pleading at the bar of justice; rebutted presumptions ; denied inferences; appealed to mercy; came as if stimulated by some iucontroulable de- sire of confession , to rhe verge of some supposed fact of criminality ; and then , by a surprising turn , urged all these ad- mitted steps as the proofs of his inno- cence . A day came , when the attendants ob- served about him a gloom of an extraor- dinary kind It was tender and exalted. Sometimes the tears flowed freely: it was then illuminated by a smile of heroic patience. He was impressed with the con- viction , that he had been capitally con- demned ; and that the following morning he was to suffer on the block. Rumours had spread abroad rand some curiosity regarding him had already been excited in the town. At this time the insurrection of the Earl of Essex, and his consequent imprisonment, were topics of universal conversation, and interest through the kingdom. A suspicion arose in the place, that Willoughby was no other , than Essex escaped in disguise , whose troubles had turned his brain. Their persons were not utterly unlike. They had both a deep, animated ex pression : but Ralph was handsomer; was better grown ; had more regular featu- res; and was made with more symmetry- All the higher classes of the inhabitants **9 of the town flocked to see him ; parti- culary the females. Ihis confirmed Ralph in the concep- tion that he was to suffer on the fol- lowing day. Many attempts were made to hold conversations with him , but he was often moody and impenetrably si- lent But Beauty had so much influence over him even in this state that he never failed to answer the young women bless- ed with this gift , who addressed him. Every word he uttered , confirmed them in the idea that he was Lord Essex. They listened to him -, they gazed upon him ; they mingled their tears with his. This extraordinary sympathy; the earnest softness with which eyes were fixed upon him ; operating upon a mind already in a state of enthusiastic fervor, gave R.alph a sort of mournful eloquent 120 ce, that seemed like inspiration. Images crowded upon him with a brilliance far beyond what reality could produce. Un- check'd by the diffidence accompanying reason, he gave unlimited ran^e to his thoughts and his language His words flo- wed in tides of pathos or sublimity. His principal bent seemed to be the desire to be remembered in death; to have his gra- ve covered with the flowers of love, and to have it recorded that he died a victim to ingratitude and injustice. What could be more calculated to confirm the suspicion that this person was Lord Essex ? A sudden thought of escape now en- tered the moody mind of Willoughby. He imagined himself a close prisoner: and seeing a lady of an engaging counte- nance, who appeared peculiarly intere- 131 steel about him , he put a note secretly into her hands beseeching her to assist him at dawn of the next morning in escaping from captivity and death . The girl, who, in addition to the in- terest she had already felt, was highly flattered by this confidence, and believ- ed that the sufferer had good reason to suppose that he was to be betraved to the agents of the Crown; (for she had no doubt that the person was Essex,) will- ingly entered into this scheme. With the first streak of light Ralph arose; and stealing out of the Hospital, found his appointed guide at the door. He had need of a guide ; for he was weak in bodily health ; and his senses were wandering. His guide had had the pre- caution to bring a female servant with her. They conducted him some miles 6 Ill on his road: and then found the necessi- ty of taking their leave. The conversa- tion had been wild and unsatisfactory. Nothing had occurred, that removed the suspicions that he was no other than Lord Essex. But the danger of being proved to have been the accomplice of his flight deterred his guide from ventur- ing farther. Ralph now proceeded on his way : and continued many days trudging the road with such mean accommodation a s chance threw upon him. He was little disturbed in his progress, being every where considered as a person innocently crazed. The rapidity and incoherency with which he continued to talk to himself was the principal sign of this malady . Oue morning he waked with the 1*3 slanting beams of a bright sun full on his eyes He found himself in a large apart- ment.beMiing the relies of ancient splendor. Round the room hung two or three old portraits painted on panned. Over the heavy and fantastically decorated chim- ney was a large shield of arms. It con- tained numerous quarterings. In the first, he gazed with eagerness as he beheld the united/re? and cross oilFilloughbj! This incident set his imagination into a new flame. He fancied that he was re- stored to the seat of his ancestors; that all the splendor of the Baronial House of Lfflngton would return ; that he should take his seat in the House of Lords; be among the leaders of the English nobili- ty: and by an union of rank and talents enjoy the sphere suited to an exalted ambition . 124 He rose, and rambled about tbe House. Ail was of a similar character. A spacious hall , through which every footstep echoed : long passages : a massive stair- case : a vast gallery, with an hundred portraits, many of them dropping from their frames. He had not been long in the Gallery, ■when he thought he heard low voices, and the tread of light footsteps. He start- ed; and then listened. All was silent; and his fancy soon wandered to other subjects. Again the whispers arose ; and a door clapped; and a grim form darted across the further end of the gallery . Ralph cried out, with wild looks, and in an aweful voice, as if he was addressing supernatural Beings : « Who comes to disturb my dominions? «Be it a Spirit blest; or Goblin damn'd" _ f let it come forth; and tell its purpose! I am prepared for it : I can deal with Spi- rits ! I can ride in the air; and pierce the clouds; and lead the music of the winds ! m « It is only a maniac ! » whispered a trembliug voice: leave him to himself; and he will not perceive us! » — « We are not safe ! » answered a sterner tongue: cc death tells no tales ! here is the thing, that will do the job! « - — He drew from his pocket a long knive stained with blood. « Put it up, Gil! « cried the first voice: « Put it up, I say! when needs must,letitdo its work ! here there is no occasion I » — This came from a set of Gypsies, who were in the custom of housing themselves by night in this deserted mansion. It had been an old sent of a "Western branch of the Willoughby fa* 126 mily , who had now come to decay. The advice of the peaceable Gypsey was correct . Ralph soon forgot what had passed; quitted the house ; and proceeded on his journey. Another week passed, during which he had advanced far on his way tow- ards the Capital . When he beheld a mighty Castle with its numerous tur- rets glittering in the Sun at a distance amid a laughing scenery of delightful richness, he recognized objects familiar to the earlier days of his residence in England . But his memory was yet so flighty , that he could not tell where he was: nor on what occasions he had beheld these objects . He darted forward ; and in a few mi- les found himself at the gate of a ve- nerable mansion, over which the shield 1^7 of arms arrested his notice. He gazed upon it; and then a transient ray of di- stinct recollection came upon him. It vanished again « Those wheat-sheafs\ Oh, how often have I seen them at old Burleigh's door! — But I have been here too ! I am sure, that I have often sat in yonder baywindow ; and looked upon these woodlands ; and seen the golden sunbeams playing on von Cas- tle-towers . J3 — It Was Stoke, near Windsor; a little before this time the residence of the Lord Keeper Hatton, then deceased : — of which Gray, the Poet, speaks in his Lovg Story, as the place, where The «rave Lord Keeper led the brawls : The Seals and biases danced before him. Queen Elizabeth is said to have promoted this lucky Lawyer lor the 128 gracefulness of his person; and his skill in dancing; a singular recommendation for the first judicial seat of the Kingdom . Sir Christopher Hatton is however said to have filled this great office with ability and integrity. The Court over which he presided, did not then take the range it has since taken. It was a successor, promoted to this office before the end of the Reign, Lord Chancellor Egerton, (afterwards created Lord Elles- mere, and Viscount Brarkley,) (*) who laid the foundation of the present system of jurisprudence, which governs that en- lightened Court. Spenser has honoured Sir Christopher (*) He died 1617. He was father of the first Earl of Bridgewater . 12 9 Hatton by the first of his Dedicatory Sonnets, in these words: SONNET To the right honourable , Sir Chris- topher Hatton, Lord High Chan- cellor of England, etc. (wise Those prudent heads, that with their counsels 'Whilom the pillars of th 1 earth did sustain, And taught ambitious Rome to tyrannise, And in the. neck of all the world to reign, Oft from those grave affairs were wont abstain. With the sweet lady Muses for to play: So Ennius j the elder Africanej So Maro oft did Caesars cares allay. So you, great Lord, that with your counsel sway The burden of this kingdom mightily, With like delights sometimes may eke delay The rugged brow of careful Policy: And to these idle rhymes lend little space, Which for their title's sake may find more grace, Ed M. USD SrEMSEi i3o Ralph had several times accompanied Burleigh on visits to Stoke. (*) He en- joyed the lively hospitality of this ac- complished Courtier: and relished the days spent here more than almost any others he had pessed with Burleigh . Another exalted Lawyer, of a very dif- ferent character , came afterwards , ( if my memory does not mislead me.) to the possession of this place by marriage. I mean the cruel and pedantic Chief Justice, Sir Edward Coke: a man of profound skill in technical Law; but of (*) In the cemetery of this parish was buried Gray, the Poet, whose mother spent her last years, and died, at Stoke . It is in the County of Buckingham . i3i very revolting talents ; and very una- finable, if not base, heart. Ralph gained admittance into the house. All was now silence; solitude; and melancholy . He yet knew not where he was: but wandered through the rooms, muttering to himself; till a door open- ed ; and at the further end of the apart- ment there met his eye a whole length portrait of Gersenda Cecil. He started bark: he shrieked: he fainted. He knew no more what became of him, till he again found himself wan* dring without a guide on a strange road* feverish, exhausted, despondent. Fatigue or decay of strength; or want, seemed suddenly to withdraw some of the clouds from his intellect. He had spent his last farthing; he was hungry; and thirsty r and houseless- l3^ He gat upon a bank; his heart gave way to sorrow; and torrents of tears flowed down his cheeks . In this state a horseman , well mounted , and of a martial appearance, passing by him, seemed canght by his striking distress. He stopped 5 gazed: then went on a few paces ; then relumed . « What ails you, my friend? *> said he to Ralph. — Ralph found it difficult to articulate an answer. « I cannot tell » answered he : « I know not where I am; nor whence I came ! « — « You seem in distress! » continued the stranger. cc I have seen you before ! AV hat is your name ? « — « Oh, I know not: I know not! I believe, that I have no name. What is in a name? A name would do me no good! n And then he sighed deeply. — « Ah ; it has done me no good ! » — The stranger continued to fix his eyes intently upon him . At last he cried: cc Were it not for the condition, in which I see you, I should say that your name was JVilloughby ! « Ralph started, cc Willoughby ! » he repeated almost with a shriek : « it is some time since 1 have heard the sound! — • it is a most unhappy one! but I be- i34 gin to think myself, that that is the name ! » The stranger now perceived, that his memory was deranged : and he had no farther douhts that the person was Ralph Willoughby,with whom he had been well acquainted two or three years before. The stranger was Sir John Norn's, a cetebiated Commander of this Reign, whose seat in Berkshire was near the spot, where he now found Ralph . He desired Ralph to take shelter in his house, which was not a quarter of a mile distant; and sent two of his ser- vants to conduct him thither. Gentle attentions; quiet; regimen, soon brought Ralph to his perfect sen- ses; and he soon recognized in Sir Iohn Norris an old, kind, and generous friend. He told liim the history of his late 1 3 5 misfortunes; and interested him deeply in his chequered and unfortunate lot ! Sir Ioho N orris is one of those lur-ky characters, who have been immortalized by Spenser. Spenser's roll of Dedications maybe regarded as the truest mark of distinction and eminence in that very distinguished age. It is true : that there are many of rank and merit, 'whom he has omitted. But not one has he eulogized, who did not at thai time make a very striking figure. i36 SONNET To the right noble Lord, and most valiant Cap fain, Sir Iohn Norris, Knight, Lord President of Minister, "Who ever gave more honourable prize To the sweet Muse, than did the martial crew, That their brave deeds she might immortalize In her shrill trump; and sound their praises due? AVho then ought more to favour her, than you, Most noble Lord, the honour of this age, And precedent of all, that arms ensue ? Whose warlike prowess, and manly courage, Tempered with reason, and advisement sage, Hath filPd sad Belgic with victorious spoil j In France and Ireland left a famous gage; And lately shalced the Lusitanian soil, (fame, Sith then each-where thou hast dispread thy Love him, that hath eternized your name, (i) Edmund Spenser. (i) The tone and expression and rhythm of this Sonnet has been striPingly imitated in one or t\vo of the Sonnets of Milton . .a 7 There was nothing, which had more effect in restoring the soundness ofRalph's mind, and the chearfulness of his spirits, than the conversation which he found at the tables of those public characters, who could command a larse establish- ment. Ralph excelled in conversation with, men , whose minds were Glled with important concerns . His faculties were invigorated by collision; and many lights thus broke upon him, that he would otherwise have missed. He had on these occasions a rapidity of language, that his pen could not have followed: and in composition the necessity of this mecha- nical labour would have lost many of his most brilliant effusions. Sir Iohn Norris, who had been more engaged in an active Profession, where the fatigues of the hody lea\e less time i38 for intellectual cultivation, listened to the vigour and velocity of h s thoughts, and the extent and readiness of his kooW- lege, with surprize and delight. Ralph was enabled, without betraying any secrets, to give him a great deal of political information, at once new and \ery useful to him . Nor did many of the visitors at Sir Iohn NomYs table listen with less in- terest to Ralph. He relieved the moraliz- ing gravity of Samuel Daniel, (i) and the minute prolixity of Michael Drayton(jh) (1) Samuel Daniel was a Morale and Historical Poet . (2) The most celebrated Poems of Mi- chael D raj ton are hh long Topographical Poem, the Poly— Olbion ; and his little spritelj piece the Nymphidia. i3f) both of whom were at present visitors of this seat: and who, on the death of Spenser, succeeded^ however unworthily, to some slight portion of his fame. The two pastoral poets, Nicolas Breton , (3j and Dr. Thomas Lodge, (4) were also here; and paid great deference to the genius of Ralph. But one man of high rank was also here: who had been one of Spenser's best patrons in Ireland ; where patronage was of the first importance to him. I mean the Earl of Ormond. (3) Some of Breton's short Lyrics art exquisite gems . (4) A selection of Lodge's pieees, which vere very rare, has been lately given to tJie public by Mr. Singer. i4o SONNET To the right honourable > the Earl of Ormond and Ossory. Receive, most noble Lord, a simple taste Of the wild fruit, which salvage soil hath bred: Which, being through long wars left almost waste, With brutish barbarism is overspread j And in so fair a land, as may be read, Not one Parnassus, nor one Helicon, Left for sweet Muses to be harboured, But where thyself hast thy brave mansion! There indeed dwell fair Graces, many one; And gentle Nymphs, delights of learned wits j And in thy person, without paragon, All goodly bounty, and true honour sits. Such therefore, as that wasted soil doth yield, Reeieve,dear Lord, in worth the fruit of barren field. Edmund Spenser i4> I know not in what estimation ths Ormonds hold this Sonnet. It is one of Spenser's best; and one of the most gra- tifying. They ought to consider it as one of the great glories of theinllustrious and most ancient House , which has continued for so many centuries in Tre- land^and in England among the highest ranks of nobility ; and which shines with such splendor in the vivid colours of Lord Clarendon r s pen . Ralph accompanied Lord Orrnond to London^ where he again was thrown into the society of Raleigh . For Lord Or- rnond and Raleigh had had much busi- ness together in Ireland; and still kept up their connection . Raleigh chided Ralph ; hut chided him gently; for he was still resolved to win his confidence . Ralphs very reluo- i4^ tance to yield his understanding to him made the other yet more eager to van- quish it, Lord Ormond smiled, when he saw the unexpected predominance, which Ralph held over this great and domineer- ing genius. He observed, that it was not done by force, assumption, or insolence; that it was done without efF rt ; or de- sign $ or even consciousness: thnt it arose from the force and naivete of a brilliant mind , indulgent to others; yet firm in its own convictions! — But whatever courtesy and kindness Raleigh threw on Ralph at this time, much of its effect was lost upon him by his grief for the fate of Essex . The trial was over; and this unhappy No- bleman was condemned to death. There were those, who yet believed that mercy ■ 43 would be extended to him . The Queen's partiality to him was notorious . Her sorrow and pity for him betrayed them- selves in the deepest melancholy. It was said, that, contrary to the most marked characteristic of her mind and temper, she was wavering. Much now depended on the advice of those about her, The Partv in Power were reported to be unfavourable to the fallen Favorite. But there were factions among them; and the Court was full of intrigue and treachery. "\N hen Raleigh intimated opinions leaning to the policy and necessity of implacable punishment, Ralph looked so shocked, mingled with something of in- dignant anger, that the other percieving it, became more reserved on the subject. .44 But Ralph was even horrified; and never afterwards had the same opinion of Ra- leigh . Fssex was now brought to the block. The Nation was bathed in tears ; and followed the persecutors of this amiftble and accomplished, yed not innocent, Peer, with curses. I know not how such a positive act of rebellion^ as that of the Earl of Essex could have b en forgiven . The Govern- ment, that could be lenient to such acts, could never stand. The fault was not in the punishment ; but in the irritations, that gave cause to the offence The cunning, and rascally, cold blooded in- triguers of the day, no doubt, took ad vantage of the irritability of Essex's im- prudent temper to inflame him to acts of mad and ruinous resentment. 1 4^ The Queen, when the dreadful act of justice was executed, sunk into irreco- verable despair. Her attaachment to the Sufferer has excited surprize, and ridi- cule, and a thousand extravagant sur- mises. At the Queen's age, and with such a disparity of years, it is quite im- possible it could have been a passion as absurd as love would have been under such circumstances. I know that there are stories of her turn for gallantry in her younger days: and I remember the tale about Lord Thomas Seymour, (the Admiral,) at Ashridge (1) of which the (i) Since the seat of the Earls and Dukes of Bridge water : lately rebuilt by the pre- sent Earl . It is in Hertfordshire ; near Hemel'Hernsted or rather in Bucks, 1 i46 eossipers are so fond. But I also remem- ber what was the conduct of this illus- trious Sovereign through a long and dangerous reign . I remember that she shewed thai she had no private passions, which were the mistresses of her actions. Penetration; decision; grandeur, were the traits of her mind, and disposition . She was stern; but sternness was the quality, that made her ride triumphant through the political Ocean of those days, agitat- ed by a thousand conflicting winds . Ductility, doubt, want of self confid- ence , would hute hurled her from the throne in a few months. The vast strength, and perpetual activity of the Catholics; the aid they received from almost every Foreign Power; the intrig- ues of the Queen of Scotland 9 and her numerous adherents, never left a moment, i4? that did not require talent, firmness, exertion, and maguanimity . By the male line She was of a new race; of a name, that did not inspire awe among the old Nobility . Two of the great Houses of the Peerage were as nearly descended from The Plantagenets aslierself;through the family ofBraridon y who had married Mary, youngest sister of king Hen \ III. the Stanleys and the Qreys^ who had carried their blood in marriage to the Seymours . (1) These pretensions came in conflict with those (1) The present Marchioness of Buckingham , only child of the last Duke of Chandos, is the heir and representative of this line of Greys and Seymours. i48 of the throne of Scotland, descended from Margaret, Eldest sister of King Hen. Vllf. Though Queen Elizabeth, as daughter of the Brother, may seem to modern readers to have unquestioned priority to these sisters, yet Henry's divorces , and his Will, as well as that of his son King Edw. VI. raised many questions in those days . The young, accomplished, poetical, and amiable, Ferdinando Stanley,Earl of Der- by, is supposed to have fallen a victim to poison, because he would not lend himself to the schemes of some of these intriguers* The unhappy destiny of the Queen of Scots must always draw deep commi- seration from every feeling bosom. But it seems clear, that the throne of Eli- zabeth was not safe, while Mary lived. *49 The conduct of the Duke of Norfolk:(i) and his engagements with Mary, are a proof of this. I do not blame Queen Mary . Her intrigues were perhaps the natural con- sequence of her situation . The most doubtful part of her rival's behaviour was the reception of her into England under promises of protection, followed by making her a prisoner. An act so revolting to faith must be supposed to (i) Thomas Howard , Duke of Norfolk, (son of Hen. Earl of Surry, the Poet.) suffered on the block for this conspiracy . The Dukedom of Norfolk was not restored till the Restoration of K. Charles II The family, in the inter- val ', bore the title of Earls of Arundel. s. i5o have arisen from State Secrets, which History has not yet revealed. If Elizabeth possessed by nature an heart not made of melting materials, the course of trials to which it was exposed through a long and perilous life, would in the ordinary course augment its harshness . The direction of the su- preme authority is too often but a choice of evils from day to day. The enjoy- ments that still press upon the senses; pomp; splendor; diversity; new cares; rest after fatigue; all efface momentary pain; revive animation; and freshen hope . But as old age comes on . these resources against difficulty and affliction fail . Then we see crimes, and cruelties, *nd harslnrsses, in all their horrors . The unhappy Queen now lost the elasticity of her great spirit. She s^eut 1 Dl the day and the night in tears and groans. Sue reproached those about her. There is a story of Lady Nottingham, the wife of the Lord Admiral (Howard, which as I relate from memory , I may tell imperfectly . It is said that the Queen in a moment of favour had gi\ en Essex a ring; and told him, if ever he was in disgrace, to produce to her th^t ring as the pledge of forgiveness No ring had now been produced. After his death, Lftdy Nottingham confessed to the Queen thalshe had been em ployed as the messeng- er of this precious pledge; and implored forg i v eness for ha v i ng stopped it in its wa y „ The Queen is reported to have said in an agony of grief at this treacheiy : « God may forgive J on : — / never will ! Intrigues with the King of Scots now thickened in every quarter . The expect- l52 ing Monarch, who prided himself upoa his policy and wisdom, entertained se- parately the correspondence of every Faction j aud thought himself the master- spring, who could move them all at his will . But while he thought himself the master of all, he was the dupe of all. Ralph learned much of what was pass- ing in the Palace of the dying Queen from his friend Sir Robert Carey, a younger son of the Lord Hunsdon, who afterwards the moment the last breath escaped from the Queen's lips stole secretly, and in defiance of orders, from the closed gates of the Court, took horse, and rode without rest to Scotland to be the first communicator of the tidings to the anxious Heir . He has given a curious account of thip himself in his own Life under the name of Memoirs of the Earl i53 of Monmouth, to which title he was af- terwards raised . He was of the Queen's hlood by her mother , Anna Boleyri : and by her, his family, which were of ancient gentry in Devonshire, were raised to the Peerage . Spenser has thus commemorated his Father . ic>4 SONNET To the right honourable, the Lord of Hunsdon, High Chamberlain to her Majesty . Renowned Lord, that for your worthiness And noble deeds have your reserved place High in the favour of that Emperess, The world's sole glory, and h»r sex's grace; Here eke of right have you a worthy place, Rolh for yournearnrss to that Fairy Queen, And for your own high merit in like casej Of which apparent proof was to he seen, When that tumultuous rage, and fearful din Of Northern Rebels ye did paeifyj And their disloyal power defaced clean, The record of enduring memory. Live, Lord, for ever in this lasting verse, That all posterity thy honour may rehearse. Edmund Spenser i55 Th e poet has also celebrated a Lady of a name, \vhu h has been frequently con- founded; with this; but which, though of the same County, and of a race at least equally ancient, is totally different in its origin, and arms. I mean the name of Cdre\V. though generally pronounced the same as Carey . I cannot at present from memoir exactly particularize the Lady, to whom this Sonnet is addressed : nor do I re- member, whether Mr. Todd in his hie E dition of Spenser has particularized her I cannot believe h< r tobetheLadv of j genius, who was a dramatic writer, and whose name, 1 think, was Carey. There is no allusion in Spenser's Sonnet to thi s Lady's literary talents. Another branch of the Careys were j created by K. James I. Viscounts Fa/k- land, of Scotland: and are memorable 1 56 for having produced that beautiful cha- racter, whose portrait Lord Clarendon has laboured with so much fondness. SONNET To the most virtuous and most beautiful Lady, the Lady Carew. Ne may I, without blot of endless blame, You, fairest Lady, leave out of this place,. But with remembrance of your gracious name, Wherewith that courtly girland mostye grace, And deck the world, adorn these verses base: Not that these few lines can in them comprise Those glorious ornaments of heavenly gracey Wherewith ye triumph over feeble eyer, And in subdued hearts do tyrannize : For thereunto doth need a golden quill, And silver leaves them rightly to devise: But to make humble present of good will; A-Vhirh, when as timely means it purchase may. In ampler wise itself will forth display. £ DM USD §?E*SER* ii>7 From Sir Robert Carey's Memoirs a lively picture may be drawn of these times. The Queen was thrifty; and kepi the Court poor . Its dependents lived almost entirely upon expectation . They were mistaken, if they hoped a golden harvest from the new Monarch: that was reserved for the favourites of his own nation . From the moment that Essex was removed by the stroke of the axe, Sir Robert Cecil obtained the primary and uncounteracted influence over the Scotch, King. He made some efforts to draw back Ralph W illoughby into his confidence: tut he was jealous of Raleigh's intimacy with him: and his cautious manner, now grown doubly cautious, and his increased care, (for Burleigh had now been some time dead,, and the weight of public i58 aflairs lay on the shoulders ot his son,) made him far more repugnant to the sympathy of Ralph, than he us^d to be. Sir Robert had often found in Ralph a vivacity and eloquence, which were useful supplies of his own defects. Early intimacy made it less unpleasant to unbend with him than with any other. The rays of Ralph's mini often penetrat- ed into those recesses, where Cecil could not see . The latter had inns opened to him prospects, which the nature of his own talents could not have commanded. There were certain sympathies, which he could not anticipate; and certain re- sults of public measures, which he knew not clearly bow to speculate upon. In his conversations with Ralph he had accustomed himself to use a frank- ness, that his pride and reserve would 1 5.9 not permit him to use with others. He drew Ralph into several meetings . So- metimes their conversation went on well for an hour together: then a word, a luok, broke in upon it; and as if by a spell destroytd it. In truth, confidence once broken scarcely ever becomes entirely sound again. Cecil would,if he could have ventured to be explicit .have made an effort to detach him entirely from Raleigh . But he dar- ed not hazard even to Ralph the positive declaration that his professed friendship to Raleigh was not sincere. He was equally desirous tosift Ralph with regard to Raleigh's opinions and designs. But Ralph had accidentally been thrown into the confidence of such opposite parties, that, as his sense of honour was in the highest degree refined and active , his i Go jealousy of a breach of faith was constantly on the alert; and as quick as lightning. Cecil therefore found that all his mana- gement availed nothing in effectuating either of the purposes, in which he was so desirous of succeeding. Ralph now behaved with more delicacy and principle, than worldly wisdom . He might easily have been restored to Cecil's favour. If he would but have given up Raleigh, whom Cecil little suspected how far he was from approving or loving, he might have possessed as much of the favour of the other, as that intriguing Statesman could give to any one. Cecil's conversation was dark; and, whether designedly or not, perplexed: on some topics he was quite unintelligible to Ralph. He had an idea of something carrying on by Raleigh, of which Ralph i6i knew nothing . He enquired anxiously of Ralph, if he was acquainted with the Cavendishes . Ralph to'd him that he knew them very slightly The old Count- ess of Shrewsbury, the last wife of Earl George, to whose care Mary Queen of Scots was committed, had exalted her former husband Sir William Cavendish into vast wealth. One of her daughters had married the Earl of Lennox, the uncle of King James, and was mother of the Lady Arabella Stuart. This un- fortunate Princess was, among others, made the innocent instrument of some dark intrigues in this plotting age. The old Countess had been one of the most sing ill r characters of her day. Avaricious, ambitiou-, busy, intriguing, acute in worldly wis !om, ostentatious, sp'end d , imperious, she accumuratep i Go. incredible wealth; set up three sons upon vast property : and enabled her second son to obtain an Earldom under the title of Devonshire-, and her third to leave an estate to his son, which with his per- sonal merits , and a Barony inherited from his mother, enabled him to acquire by creation the Dukedom of Newcastle. The Countess married another of her daughters to her son in law, Gilbert the next Earl of Shrewsbury . This younger Countess vyas a mixure of folly and cra- ziness:ta!kative, meddling, and indiscreet. What mischief Cecil could fear from these characters it is not easy to givss. How poor Lady Arabella could be made use of, for any purposes that would en- danger the State, we are at this day in the dark . Cecil knew that Pialeigh was discon- i63 tented; and that be was as ambitious of I ono irs. as be was of power Raleigh, with Cecil, S : r Robert Sydney, and three or feuf others, had tor some time been aspiring to a Peerage. In that reign a Peerage was very sparingly conferred. The Queen, I think, had only given it to St. John of Bletso,Bu< khurst Hunsdon, Compton, and Burleigh: in addition to a Summons to Lord Thomas Howard. Tie three first were her relations; and all expect Burle'gh who won it by l«- boiious oftire, of prime quality among the ancient gentry of the Nation. Rale'ghc though his raee might be annent, was Cf rtainly by descent not of this quality . II is true that he had pretensions of a much loftier kind : hut these pretentions ii wis the fashion to reward ia a different way. The personal history of these days i64 proves, that there flourished at this time a great number of men, high in talent and virtue, who combined with them honourable descent and large estate. Yet these men never thought of a Peerage. I do not blame Raleigh for ibis : I rather admire his unfettered spirit the more . His end was right, if he confined himself to legitimate means. But his desire was perhaps too intense, duly to weigh obstacles . He had prejudices, yet immoveable as rocks, to contend with . Direct force, however great, could make no impression upon them . He resorted on this account to sapping and raising. He saw, as if he was the master of its springs, the character of the expectant Monarch . He beheld all its subtleties; and all its weaknesses. He looked to the i65 day, when he should be able to move its machinery as a puppet. Cecil was fully aware of this : he ne- ver slept upon Raleigh's motions: heknew almost every movemeat; and he suspect- ed much more than he knew; and some- times imagined, what had not the slight- est foundation. It was his present con- viction that Raleigh was employing Ralph Willoughby to carry on a secret corre- spondence with Lady Arabella Smart. This he had partly inferred from a late conversation with Lord Cobham . The manner, in which this last silly Nobleman was in the habit of talking; his rambling, incoherent, contradictory, gossiping tongue; asserting and retract- ing; hinting, and denying, made it diff- icult for any one to come with clear ideas out of the labyrinth of his words. Ce i66 cil's cunning here misled him: he refin- ed too much; and supposed design in what was wild inanity. It has excited surprize, that Raleigh could connect himself with such a man as LordCobham. Raleigh may have had bett- er reason than has been supposed His first reason perhaps was the other's rank;and the influence he at that time possessed with the Queen. But with all this folly, often real, sometimes affected, Gobham had oc- casional flashes of bright ability He was an intriguer; without restraint of con- science; and ready for whatever his desires led him to. This eccentric combination of quali- ties was uselul on many occasions to Raleigh. Whenever he wished any thing unsaid, all the blame of the former as- sertion was thrown on^Cobham's unsteady i6y tongue . His seeming openness often co- vered the deepest designs; and led those, who thought themselves wtse into dange- rous orabsurd errors, when they believed themselves ia possession of directing se- crets. Lady Arabella Stuart had seen little of the world . .She had been principally a reel use; nursing solitary aero?)) plishments amid books, and reflection . Her dispo- sition was kind; and her heart tender. There had been a particular watchfulness, lest she should form an alliance with any of the great English Nobility. The Seymours, who rwid already allied them- selves to royalty through the Greys,were supposed to be desirous of this marriage. The younger Countess of Shrewsbury had introduced R.alph to this Heiress at one of the Shrewsbury residences . He i68 pitied the state of restraint, in which she was brought up; and being attracted by a gentle pensive manner, and an intelli- gent style of conversation, he entered with interest into discussions with her, which she seemed to wish to prolong. Had Ralph been vain, he would have been elated by the apparent favour she shewed to him. She complained of the miserable domestic feuds, to which she was a witness in the Shrewsbury family. Lady Shrewsbury's brother, Sir Charles Cavendish, and Lord Slin w&burys bro- ther Edward Talbot, bid married s ; stersj (coheirs of the Lord Ogle:) yet this com- plicated alliance did not add to the har- mony of L ird Shrewsbury with his bro- ther, and heir presumptive, Mr. Talbot . Their dissentions were tremendous. The Cavendishes were looking to a Peerage, i6g through Arabella's influence^ when James should ascend the throne • Ralph, won bv her frankness, commu- nicated tn her much of the character of the Court, and its chief actor«, vith which she was before unacquainted. She trembled at the thorns and precipices omid which she had lived ; and among which she was yet condemned still more to live. There was a light and happiness in Ralph's manner, whkh conveyed to her with the uimost distinctness and vi- vacity the portraits of those, of whom he h Davis (i), the celebrated Poet and Lawyer: he almost immediately afterwards called for Ptalph Willoughby; and Knighted him , almost before he guessed wli-at the Sovereign was about to do . Sir Ralph felt little gratification from this honour , which had been already laid on so many obscure and imbecile beads. But be was flattered by the con- versation, which James chose to bold witb him . I be Monarch knew his li- terary propensities; and praised bis ta- lents and acquirements. Sir Ralph thought that Cecil might have taken the pains to have introduced (1) Author of the celebrated me- ta physical poem, Nosce Teipsum. i8o him : but Cecil was that morning absent from the Court . Indeed Cecil had much to do : for the new Monarch commit- ted the whole weight of public affairs to him , as Willoughby had predicted would be the case . The whole system was now changed. The King was as profuse in every thing, as the Queen had been sparing. Cecilj the Lord Chancellor Fgertoo ; Sir Ro- bert Sydney ,- S'r Edwaid Wotton, (elder brother of Sir Henry;} Sir Fran- cis Knovslys ; Sir William Cavendish; Arundel of Wardour; and otheis^ were raised to the Peerage. Pialeigh was omitted in this list; Raleigh, who had aspired to this honour, in the late thrifty and severe reign 3 when some of the others had net pre- sumed so high . i8i Raleigh was indignant . He thought he percieved King Jdmes's countenance grow every day more clouded towards him He consulted with Cobham, North- umberland, and Grey of Wilton, who all thought that they perceived the same . Raleigh now expressed to Sir Ralph Willou_,hby his suspicions of the new Lord Cecil. The other was impenetra- bly silent; but this silence did not lessen the fears, which had thus been taken up At length Raleigh asked ^illough* by in direct terms his opinion of Ce- cil's friendship to him. "\\ illoughby could no longer evade . He answered : « Judging from public appearances only, I cannot suppose him to be your friend! > Raleigh started; struck his forehead j and appeared iu au agony . He exclaim- l82 ed, as if unable to restrain the secret movement ofhis heart : « for what have I destroyed my peace of mind ! To destroy my protector : my defence ! to- rid my oppressor of the only obstacle to his cruel despotism ! Down, proud heart! afflict thyself/ thou desenest ii! « — His face was convulsed: he paused: and then a big tear or two rolled down his hardj war-worn face; and lie was calmer. Never before had Willoughby seen the great soul of this magnauimous man subdued . Willoughby was overcome by this unexpected sight . Expressions of anger and resentment would not have touched him. He told Raleigh to call up those gigantic talents, which belonged to him. He said: « Stoop not to circumstances: rely not on favour, and management: *$3 man's favour cannot be commanded ! envy and interest interrupt it: when most we want it, it always most flies us! » — « But » said Raleigh with a softened sigh t and humility which Willoughby had never before witnessed; « can we do without favour and manageojeut 7 I would do without it, if I could ! You know my proud heart. I fear-you know it too well ! » « It mun not be crushed! It must be passed and overlooked! » cried Will- oughby . — Raleigh turned pale. « Crushed » repeated he « Crushed ! why. I have courted this ungrateful man! not attempted to crush him ! » To crush, is alwavs wrong; and often impossible ! » answered Ralph: « but neither is courting tht way to succeed! "By Heaven « ex- claimedRaleigh, cryouhavea noble spirit! i84 You burst with a newlightupon me! « — And then he paused: and trembled — « Alas, I fear it is too late ! » — « But why depend on Cecil? « con- tinued Ralph: « bis talents are not equdl to yours! x> « I have depended on him too ninth, » said Raleigh wi lb a groan; « his mind is as crooked, as his body. » — cc Depend not on him then! win by yoar sword! command by your genius! bend circumstances to your will! crouch not beneath them! leave courts and intrigues to themselves; and believe that all they ran give is not worth a quarter of the debasiug price that it costs! Raleigh shuddered. « Accursed, most accursed chains ! » cried he in an agony : « Would that I was like thee, Willough- by ! » — iS5 Ralph was glad to terminate this painful conversation. It increased a suspicion he had long entertained, that Raleigh had in some way put him- self i ip prudently at the mercy of Ce- cil. He was astonished, that with R.a- leigh's insight into human nature, he had not better calculated upon Cecil's character. Raleigh had not a very kind opinion of the human heart. It must have been among strong and obvious im- probabilities even in the opinion of the most benevolent estimators of hu- man morals , that Cecil could ever voluntarily admit Raleigh into a near participation of power . Minor talents are always jealous, monopolizing , in- tr'guing, covert, perfidious; and safe only \mdir the weapons of artifice. i86 Willoughby did not yet think his own fortune at Court desperate . He gave occasional attendance there; and sometimes received smiles from the Monarch . The Earl of Southampton, who had been released from the im- prisonment to which he had been con* demued in the late reign for the share he had in Essex's Insurrection, remem- bering the partiality entertained for him by his late lamented friend, was more especially anxious to bring him. under the King's favourable notice. Cecil's behaviour to him was so capricious, that he was unwilling to expose himself to its uncertainties. Sometimes this Statesman, now grow- ing greater every day, seemed ready even to solicit a rel urn of Sir Ralph's familiarity and confidence: but then. i8? when tie had been seen a day in the company of Southampton or Raleigh, he grew cold, or insolent, and fierce, and taunting. Sir Ralph was not of a temper to bear these provoking changes. He returned fierceness for fierceness ,-and taunt for taunt. Lord Cecil, surprized to find the other neither dazzled by his new splendor, nor daunted by his new power , became alternately resentful , and overawed . At one time he recommended to the Monarch to promote this old iriend: at another, he undid his own recom- mendation by sly hints, which he knew to be best calculated to poison the pusillanimous Sovereign's morbid mind. His sister Gersenda Cecil had been long married to the son of a rich City Knight^ whom she despised, and hated . i88 Aq endeavour was made to reconcile hertohtr husband, by a promise to raise him, base as his bhih was, to the Peerage, now become prostituted by one or two mercantile advanrements of a similar sort . But Gersenda had not forcot her old predilection ; and she was anxious once more to admit Sir Ralph Will- cughby to her favour. He turned with horror from . these flagitious advances. It was only from the belief, long since vanished, of an unsophisticated, and honourable affec- tion, that he could ever find any charms in her. S .e came full smiling to the Court, decked in her pearls and dia- monds: she lookt-d around her for admiration : she cast a triumphant glance on Sir Ralph Willoughby ! He started: a Where is it » he said to hi.nself, cc that I could have seen her ns I now see her? » The impression of the pic- lure at Stoke was before him: but he was not aware of the i ircumstance . His journey from Cornwall was a blank in his mind. With eves and ears extraordinarily acute, he looked around him : and was astounded at the utter change, which had taken place in the whole fashion of the Court. Hitherto there had been a repulsive sort of ceremony: men could not break certain barriers: there were etiqnettes. which now and then sup- pressed merit; and chilled pleasure: but how much oftner did they cheek presumption; and keep in awe vice! — The new Monarch's Court was a Court of licentiousness and anarchy: not because he was wanting in the 19° most exaggerated ideas of the kingly power: but because he thought that power omnipotent , and capable of con- ferring greatness on insignificance j and strength on inanity. In the former reign, that part of the minor gentry, whom arrogance and con- ceited self-importance wonld have urg- ed, if they had dared , to obtrude into higher spheres, were kept in such check, that theyseldom overleapt, or attempted to overleap , the barrier. Now and then, vast wealth, aided by other for- tunate circumstances , did overleap it: but it was a phueuomenon. The new Monarch had no tact on this subject; he did not know the old from the new families. The moment that Wealth was admitted to be the criterion, some of the meanest rose over mauyofthe most illustrious Houses. igi In a Commercial Country , above all others , the predominance of mere Wealth must be kept in check. The mean qualities, by which it may always be obtained; not to speak of the tur- pitude, by which it too generally 1*5 obtained; render this necessary. Every thing now proceeded in a rapid course of deterioration . Fine dress, handsome persons, buffoonery: splendor to the eye; coarseness to the understanding; and coarseness in the manners; trifling; dissolute amusements; uncalrulated expence ! — Cecil was con- tent to let the Court go its own way, if it but gave up to his command the reins of government. Lord Ellesmere presided with unshaken integrity and wisdom over the Law; and corrected its harshuesses by an enlightened spirit of Equity. Buckhurst , now become Earl oi Dorset), had a nit » Otis and pe- rilous woik to manage the Treasnry . ' Raleigh, neglected, discontented, and ^lad to find occasion of censure, indulg- ed id vehement harangues Against i system of administration, which outrag- ed with such ignorant blindness those great principles of State and political economy, into which his presaging genius s. w so clearly long b fore others'. He was glad to throw the blame on Cecil: but Cecil saw it w'th sufficient disapprobation; though not in the clear light, in which it was beheld by Ra- leigh . He had not the power to stop the influx of this tide of stupid waste- fulness. His fault was in his reckless ambition: in retaining that power, which he could not conduct accord- ing to his own judgement. ic>3 Raleigh, Northumberland, Cobham, Grey of Wilton, and others met fre- quently to complain of grievances, and give vent to their spleen . Sir Ralph "Willoughby reasoned with Raleigh; and endeavoured to moderate his vehe- mence; and to exculpate Lord Cecil from many of the faults, with which his shouMers were unjustly loaded. But Raleigh's threats of veugeance were not to be suppressed . Lord Cecil was now created Earl of Salisbury . This made Raleigh's rage boil afresh. " Leave the little man to himself, my illustrious friend! « said Willoughby: « it is only by contend- ing with him, that you will be foiled! Overlook him ; pass him ; leave him behind : go your own great way; and the game is yours! » — Raleigh sigh- 9 4 94 edj and trembled : he clasped Wfl- loughby's hand: « if I had had, » ( he answered,) « such an adviser as you. a few, a very few years ago, I had not known this afflicting trial of my spi- rit ! » — « The world is yet all before you ! » Sir Ralph went on in a tone of ge- nerous and noble consolation: « never yet was it in the power of one man to suppress the genius of another, but by that other's own fault! * « Ah, fault ! » replied Raleigh : « had I had but half your sublime simpli- city of heart and understanding, 1 had been saved ! » This conversation had passed between them, when by themselves. Before others, Raleigh still kept up his dig- nity : and his appearance of an un- daunted mind ! tgS The Earl of Salisbury had not yet entirely abandoned Willoughby. He kept a strict eve upon all Ii is move- ments : he Wrll knew every interview between him and Raleigh : he even obtained communications of parts of their conversations . Part of the last very memorable advice given by him to Raleigh had been overheard , and repeated to this iuquisitive and anxious Minister . Salisbury deliberated in what manner to treat the subject of this intelligence. He still thought AVilloughby too va- luable a coadjutor to be lost! He thought the advice tended to urge Raleigh to the adventures of sea-voyages: and to this he had no objection . Not all his full possession of power could quiet his dread of Raleigh's ascea- dant talents. Nor did he less dread his undaunted spirit; and his scornful dis- regard of slight or common obstacles . Deeply versed himself in the obliquities of human nature, always suspicious, and believing that outward appearances were not for a moment to be relied upon ; he had not such confidence in the conti- nuance of the Monarch's favour, as to be sure that he was yet safe from Raleigh's direct talents . He saw with uneasiness, grief, and a mixture of suppressed indignation and scorn, the Monarch's numerous weak- nesses, foibles and faults. These would put him at the mercy of Raleigh, if Raleigh could once find a familiar approach to him. But even the King's best qualities, (for he had some endowments of mind) would increase the force of Raleigh's ia- m cility to get a mastery over his spirit, He now concei\ed the design of using Willoughby as a counter balance to Ra- leigh . He had sufficient penetration and judgement to appreciate the full strength and brilliance of Willougliby's endow- ments . He had also learned that to him, Raleigh himself yielded an unaccountable deference . The interviews with Willoughby which he procured in pursuance of this scheme, were not at all satisfactory. Willoughby had lost all relics of confi- dence in Salisbury : he suspected that it was the other's plan to entrap him into a breach of Raleigh's confidence. This failure confirmed the suspicions, and redoubled the hatred, of both. Vs illoughby was now more weary of the new Court, than he had beeu of the iq8 eld . Raleigh would have made him a confidential member of all his discon- tented cabal's : but they were irksome > and even disgusting to him . He had lately received from abroad a scanty pittance of his poor share of the mi- serable wreck of his father Lord Ufting- ton's fortunes. With this he resolved to retire to a cottage in the country; and bury himself in solitude for the remain- der of his life. He chose his spot; and communicated to no one its position . It was a scattered hamlet of half a dozen houses, about a mile from the village where was placed the parish church. All the inhabitants were wood- men, except one: this last was a shepherd. Sir Ralph hired the whole cottage 5 and expended a small sum in adding a few conveniences to those which the humbler ranks of life required . *99 The first week of escape from the torment of the passions and cares by which he had been lately assailed, was Elisium to him . When the pure air of the country adds novelty to its refreshing powers; when the silence of all around sits with the charm of peace upon the bosom ; when the beauty of every form of Nature, opposed to the vapid, facti- tious, nauseating combinations of man in congregated habitations, bursts upon the delighted senses; when the heart breathes freely again, and the blood runs in kind- ly currents through the veins ; how the soul exults at its libera tiou! how the mind glows at its recovered existence! how joyful is every thought, except that, which regrets the time that has been lost . A little garden surrounded his small 20O dwelling. He began to till it with Tiis own hands . Vegetation was in its first burst: the young leaves shone in the dew of the most brilliant emerald: the first simple flowers of the Spring open- ed with exquisite perfumes upon the humble beds. He said to himself: "at how moderate a price ; and how free from the coun- terbalances of "vice and temptation, is to* be had all of real enjoyment that life can give! It is accursed ambition, that leads us astray : that sin, which must have been the inheritance of Adam's Fall ! Air; exercise; light labour; restj free thoughts ; the scenery of this beautiful face of things; the change oi seasons; the succession of day and nightj the dawn; the meridian ; the twilight * all, when undebased by man's passions 201 Ind crimes, Confer unalloyed enjoyment! There are moments when 5 look bitk on the long line of my illustrious ancestors with satisfaction! But when I consider that to this descent I may attribute the impulse by which I have been carried into that career of perilous and sophi- sticated society, which ha< ; been my tor- ment and my ruin, how strongly am I disposed to wish that my birth had been obscure; and that my lot had fallen in the abodes of humble and contented competence ! « If we believe that man is exalted in proportion to the intellectual part of his enjoyment, why do we seek those haunts where it is most feltered and oppressed ? Are Courts the places where Fancy ex- pands her wings; and visions of ideal pleasure visit us? Are crowded masses of corrupt and irritated Man, where all 202 the fury of ihe greater, and all the tur- pitude of the petty passions , are in frightful conflict, are these the spots, where the Mind can elevate, or invi- gorate her exertions? I have been contending with those, whose defects were their sure means of success; whose stupidity was their protection j and whose baseness was their guide! What have I gained? I have lost the time, that would have led to excellence in the path, for which Nature fitted me. I hove been employed, at the cost of care, suffering, danger, in a line where 1 have gained nothing : but have been loaded •with insult, disgrace , and bitterness ! « It Is past ! — the dream is vanished! But alas, it is not as if it had never been ! I feel too painfully that it has left its traces behind it ! I cannot efface from my memory a thousand galling 20j looks and words and observations! The glow of that which my imagination creates, is clouded by the obtrusive presence of the sable figures which my experience has encountered ! My phi* lanthropy is chilled; my hope is palsied: I say to myself, « these pictures, how beautiful they are I but, alas, how ray heart sinks, at the reflection that they are not true! » — « Why does Providence confer upon lis a Being so full of inconsistencies? Why are our visions so beautiful; why is our conduct so imperfect, so sen- sual, so base ? Why do we delight to contemplate the rural peasant so in- nocent, so simple, so contented, and so happy! and why are we destined to find him so coarse, so sensual, so stu- pid 3 and so heartless ?„ 2o4 "Willoughby soon became sensible thai solitude had its evils. A wound- ed mind cannot always be safely left -to its own reflections. The pain of in- tensity is sometimes more dangerous than the pain of interruption. He could )only find relief in the variety of his ^mental occupations. He commenced the outline of a long Heroic PoemJ Ibe began a set of Moral Essays; and lie formed the plan, and made the ifirst attempt, of a Memoir of his Chv D Time. In the last he resolved to draw sketches of character with a frank bnt candid hand; yet so much to the life as to preclude their appearance before the public in his own days. He never lived to finish these Memoirs. Sometimes he found his intellectual tasks occupy too much of his time 20 f and* care; and exercise under the open* sky, which could alone obtain for hinv a continuation of enjoyment in hia present dwelling, became neglected, or postponed . Some uneasiness arose at a suspicion that his retreat had been traced There was brought to him a most mysterious anonymous letter^ to which at first he could in no pnrt affix any distinct mean- ing . The writing was of a disguised hand. Willoughby repeatedly examined k, because lie thought the forms of some of the letters were familiar to him. At last he recollected some Manuscript io his possession, which it seemed to re- semble . It was a letter of the illustrious,- but unhappy, Sir Francis Bacon . This enlightened lawyer, and wonder- ful genius, was a first cousin of the Eacl ao6 of Salisbury; to whom he yet owed little favour; and nothing of his elevation. He had indeed been a partizan of Essex; against whom, with a grievous reproach to our fallen natures, he pleaded wilb earnestness at his fatal Trial . I must not attempt the character of Bacon. It has been the subject of a thou- sand pens. Willoughby admired his gi- gantic talents ; and lamented with de» jection of heart his numerous weaknes- ses. He shuddered, when he reflected upon the letter he had now received . Some- times he imagined it to contain dark advice; and that it warned him against im- plicating himself in dangerous designs by a Party, that seemed to point at Raleigh, as their chief* Sometimes he suspected il to be a trap to furnish evidence against 207 him on a futrcre occasion . It was hi* prevalent opinion, that it was a snare laid for him by Salisbury. He employed four excruciating hours of a beautiful morning in deliberating oa this mysterious subject. When reflection; could no longer avail him ; when his mind became a chaos of perplexities, he threw the letter in indignation into his drawer; siezed his hat,* and walked and ran with an hurried and almost breath- less pace, till he was exhausted . He had passed he knew not whither • he was in? the depth of a thick and apparently in- terminable wood , when the song of a melodious human voice sounded from a distance . His heart was cheered ; he pac- ed slowly; and recovered his breath . At length, at a distant point of the long yista before him, a small break let in the light of the sky. He hastened! t<* it. The opening was on the brow of a hill, which commanded a glimpse of the blue Ocean; and on the cliffs, which overhung it, of a mighty Castle raising its massy towers in the dim air. He stopped: « O beautiful and mnjes- tic scenes of Nature ! » he exclaimed : " Ye are the only balm for the tumults of the heart! Vile intrigues! horrible conspiracies of man, that disfigure you; and let loose the demons of Malice and Fury to lay waste the enchanting charms of this material globe ! Blow upon me, ye winds! exalt my ear, ye zephyrs, to listen to the harmony of the spheres!,,-- He ran along the brow: descended the valley; and mounting another hill, be- held the blue sea more gloriously: and the white cliffs of rival France glittering dimly in the faint horizon . 209 He now vowed ati eternal farewell to the world : and resolved most earnestly never again to quit the grandeur of na- ture in her Solitude for the restless and wicked abodes of Man ! It was not till Night closed round him, that he returned to his cottage. He had brought a few books with him. He took up the Poems ot a Friend; and his eye was attracted by the following : ^1© SONNET ON S O L I T UDE To sit, and listen, while the lulling wind Sounds its lugubrious tones along the sky: To hear each battlement with mournful cry Give hack the shrill lament, appals the mind, "Which is not to sublimer thoughts assign'd : But he, who fancies he is lifted high, A prelude of celestial strains to try, Can joy in these soul-moving murmurs find ! A mental Being it does ill beseem To shun reflection- and to live in crowds, Lest thoughts, like ghosts, should trouble and Yet are men wont this solitude to deem (affright! An evil, which the light of life enshrouds; And covers day with sadness, and with night! 2 11 It is vain I We may fly to the deepest solitudes : but our Fate pursues us ! — W e are many of us born to misfortune and misery, for causes inscrutable to our limited faculties ! for faults not our own! from destinies, which virtue cannot over- come! Willoughby passed a most agitated night! Frightful dreams succeeded each other. He waked: he strove to break their train: when he closed his eyes again, new horrors of gigantic form rose in troops upon h's iancy. He imagined he was* dragged to the scaffold : fiends tied his hand, and held him to the block: the cruel axe fell: his head was severed from his body: it rolled in its gore, when the form of his Father burst upon the stage; and caught it in his mantle . He shrieked so loud, that the peasant, who &12 tvaited on h : m, came into his room. The big drops stood upon h is face . He trem- bled in every limb . He could no longer trust himself to sleep. He rose: He procured a candle: he took a book; and endeavoured to read . The stillness of Night was now oppressive to bis appalled heart. He endeavoured to soothe his mind by a resort to the Muse: and made the rash attempt to charm away his horror by describing it . Fragment. To Light. I, It was a night Of Horror. The blest Moon Refused her influence boon; And birds and beasts stood motionless with fright. Black as a pull while Darkness hung Unmingled with a ray Of arrowy grey, (flung. Abreath-exhaustiug weight on Nature's form she 2l3 n. Thou thrice-blest Beam ! Whether in gold onshorD, Or with the dawn of Morn, Or silvery from the Moon thy radiance stream,- Or from the Star, that vapours veil, Faint coruscations break The gloomy flake; I bend th 1 adoring knee, thy gifts of life to hail! He now found himself so much ex- hausted 9 that he could not continue this sort of mental occupation . He watched the dawn of light: and when the morning came, found comfort in its protection . While tht dews were yet heavy upon the ground , and en- veloped the m w-sprung vegetation, he went forth to breathe the freshness , and wade through the retiring vapours. He took liis way along the principal lane that led to the hamlet. A.t the 2l4 distance of a quarter of a mile, the lane emerged upon a down: the mists yet threw all around him into invisibility: the btll of the sheep was heard almost close to him, when not a glimpse of them was to be seen : every sousid travelled through this grey veil as if it was conveyed by it with greater distinctness. The inter- rupted voices of the early villagers ; the tinkle of the harness of the team going to their work ; the first screak of the plough; the cheer of the woodmen in the salute of their fir^t meeting ,• the whirl of the village bucket at its ear- liest labour; — every rural sound, now came with a sort of musical clearness on Willoughby's ear. At length he heard the tread of a horse or rather two horses, moving with an activity uuhke the sluggish pace of 3l5 the cattle of husbandmen. At first he suppossed them to be sportsmen . The sounds rapidly approached : in on in- stant a volee saluted him . It was Sir Walter Raleigh ! « So , I have found you out, Willoughby! » said he. « I am come for a day, or two, to partake of your solitude! I should have been with you last night: but I lost my way! I spent three hours, till the dawn, under a lone shed, in the valley, on the other side of yonder hill ! » - — Willoughby had never before beheld Raleigh with so much repugnance: He returned his salute so coldly 9 that he was afraid that Raleigh pereieved it . He was sure that this deep man did not come for nothing: that he had some secret object, not unimportant: He said with aa affectation of gaiety : ai6 « Bcally , Sir Walter , I thought that I had found a relreat, which even you rould not penetrate ! » — « Well » an- swt red Raleigh; affecting good humour in return — « the reception must be welcome, in poportion to the difficulty of the task ! u — and mental, and the Inequality of the dispensation of good and evil with, reference to the good or evil of our conduct. He might have his frailties: he was aware that dark thoughts and dark passions sometimes crossed his brain, and his heart. But without con- ceit or arrogance he ^ould not but be conscious, that, taking the whole tenor of his life, even from childhood , he had been mainly directed by the most noble impulses, and most virtuous af- fections: that his fault, as far the world was concerned;, lay in dreams of im- possible goodness: that he had a poet's visions in all his hopes,- and a poet's fancy in all his thoughts of others: that while others dissuised the secret movements of their bosoms by false representations of virtue and refinement which they felt not, 226 lie, to avoid ridicule, concealed tlie pure and sublime and generous emo- tions, which overflowed in his heart. In addition to other arguments in favour of the Solitude he had now embraced , he had had sufficient ex- perience to be convinced, that all the pleasures of an Human Being, endowed with the higher order of talents, lie in speculation. It is the spiritual part of his nature alone , which is capable of satisfactory enjoyment. It is the hope; and the retrospect . The moment of possession is vanity. « The common air , the sUn ; the skies: » those prospects of the material world, that delight our senses, in what is their prime j>y but in the move- »ipnts of the mind which they set to play ? in the ideal goodness, which we 227 associate with -what we see ? in the imaginary creation, which we add to what we behold and feel? It is the poet then, who does the most for himself j and the most foe others. « Shall I» said "Willoughby, « desert the office of a Poet, if the gifts of my birth have enabled me to fulfill it? Visions cross me day and night! beautiful and, sublime images flit across my brain! Can 1 forgive myself for letting them pass for ever unpursued? they reproach me! they beckon to me! they cry, « vvill you not hear our songs? will you not no- tice our forms? will you prefer the coarse conversation ot mere mortal tur- pitude? ft — They promise to light me to a temple , where Humanity shall put on a ray of glory ! where my sight^ 228 cleared of its dim obstructions, shall behold the elevated heart in the bea- titude of celestial movements! where its momentary hues of brightness, its tran- sient anticipations of immortality, shall be viewed as in a glass! ost remote thought of any political intrigue, I knew that I was liable to the sus- picions of the very servants of the house. Sip Walter Raleigh is a man of so very singular a countenance: his whole person is so striking; and his Dame is so much the subject of every one's tongue, that I could not doubt that his visit wonld form matter of conversation for all the household Bnt what could I Jo ? I could not aflVout 1\$ him. He atterecK not a word, to which ] CO did object! JJ — ■ c f I admit, » replied Willooghby, « that the difficulties were exactly such as you describe ! I think therefore, if 1 may presume to blame him , that mv great friend's visit was injudicious. I am not certain, Lady Arabella, that even so humble a person as I am, may not do vou mischief by this inter- view I » — cc Oh, you will not desert me, Sir Ralph! » she cried eagerly.* cc vou have a defence in your open countenance ! ill the noble manner, in which all the world says , that y^u have declined the paths of ambition ! » Willoughhy sighed. « Excellent Prin- cess! « he answered — ( « forgive me for this presumptuous expression!) — your goodness thinks too highly of 2 44 mankind ! I have indeed most sincerely declined the odious paths of ambition; but there are too many, who will not believe me ! Iudging by their own in- corrigibly—sophisticated hearts , they cannot suppose it possible that another should be actuated by simple and vir- tuous inclinations f They believe that my retreat is only some scheme of dis- guise; some plan for the purpose of carrying on secret innneuvres. Unfortu- nately Raleigh's visit to me, as well as to you, will confirm this suspicion . And it is on this account that my fears anticipate some imprudence even from our present conversation . » — « Oh that 1 had not been born to this pro- voking and vain station ! » exclaimed Lady Arabella. « Can I not have a kind adviser/* Ls there danger in the 245 most virtuous conversations? Is the very consultation how to avoid offence an offence itself? » What could Willoughby say ? He felt the extreme hardship of her si- tuation ; and almost forgot his own in sympathy for hers. But delusion at the present moment would probably be eventual cruelty . It became ne- cessary that she should be fully sen- sible in how critical and painful a condition she was placed . Raleigh, might visit her again : some of Ra- le'gh's most known and active adherents might visit her. He had, for Raleigh's sake, treated the former visit as import- ing nothing : he did not believe so ! — He even doubted, if Raleigh did not sup- pose that he had succeeded in his object : but from Lady Arabella's con- a46 versation he now learned , that this penetrating Statesman must have gross- ly misconstrued any words, which seem- ed to give any remote or possible assent to any concurrence with him in any public matter whatever! Of all the paiuful impressions which disturb the course of content with onr existence here, one of the most comfort- less is, as I have observed, a loss, or great diminution, of the confidence in the virtue and kindness of our fellow-beings! If we suspect that all is disguise and d»?ceilj that all professions are empty; that each is playing his own separate gatnt-f and that there is a heartless disregard to all but selfish gratification, no moment is safe, but that which is employed in the most anxious watchfulness for* personal and indivi- *4? dual interest or defence. Language and sentiments, in themselves the most delightful, become detestable and abhor- rent as signs of intended delusion . That, which we have been accustom- ed to consider as a proof of intellec- tual preeminence, becomes a proof of stultification: and talents, which are employed in intellectual pursuits ab- stracted from Self, are only praised , that they may continue to be led as- tray ! "When we see every thing go wrong; when we observe the success of de- ception and fraud ; when we have proof that innocence cannot secure safety; when we examine the characters of those , who have become prosperous ia the world ; and the mode by which they have become prosperous, we can- a4§ not without great difficulty exclude, or weaken , this comfortless impression . Lady Arabella deserved to be happy: but all her virtues increased her dan- gers, and her chances of ill success, and misfortune in the world . It is true, that the road to final happiness may be through the defiles of Misery: but what perils lurk in the way? Who is sure that he will have fortitude, or firmness, to withstand the temptations to wrong created by threats, pain, privation, calumny, persecution? Who is sure that he will be patient under insult; forbearing and cheerful uuder want; and kind, tender, and forgiv iug under oppression and ingratitude? He would have given her with the purest sincerity advice how to conduct herself with the most prudence, if his a49 ingenuity could have furnished him with the clearest mode: but he was bewildered by the opinions, which were conflicting in his mind . Perhaps, had Lady Arabella been entire mistress of her own actions , he would have seen a simple plan, which, though it could not have secured her inoffensive passage through life, yet would at least hare had the satisfaction and glory of unim- peachable rectitude I But she was not the mistress of her own actions . She had not only the judgements and pas- sions of the Shrewburys and Caven- dishes to deal with ; but she had her own heart to regulate with regard to the approaches of the Seymours. This last alone was likely to form a source of suspicion not to be allayed "Willoughby was not aware. Lady 2 f>0 Arabella could still less suppose, that another suspicion had already enter- ed the heads of Salisbury and his divan : and that they believed that Willoughby himself was mad enough to aspire to the hand of this Princ- ess. They well knew his retreat; and they were equally acquainted with Raleigh's visit to both . Even the Seymours heard of the place of Willoughby's retirement $ and grew jealous . Though desperate in fortune, he was of four-fuld older nobility than the Seymours: and in intellect and acquirements still more their super- ior ! — Salisbury well knew the advantage of all this ; though he affected to des- pise it: and in truth, it must be con- fessed , that, if Willoughby had been a5i inclined, a little assiduity and a little management might ha-ve enabled him to detach the Lady's inclinations from the present favourite. Willoughby was more anxious to end the visit for her sake, than for his own . He was too familiar with the present state of Court espionage, not to have a dread of the evils of prolonged interviews of this kind. He rose to take his leave. Lady Arabella gave him her hand ; and he kissed it . She dropped a tear, when he quit- ed her j and intreated him to pay her another visit. When he reached home, he found on his table a long letter from R.a- leigh , who had returned to the Court. It gave a lull description to him of what was going on; and was written 25a in the strongest vigour of bursting in- dignation . All the bitterness of his acute talents was applied to the de- velopment of most of the characters now in possession of Power. There was no need to write their names over them : the features were sufficiently prominent to mark them out. But Raleigh added a short allegory 5 or Fiction, which was so obscure , that Sir Ralph in vain attempted to make out its import. He wrote down iu his Common-place book the names and enigmatical words; and put against them gnesses of explanation to assist him in decyphering the secret. He would not have taken so much pains, but that he suspected there was some allusion to Lady Arabella; and he feU so interested about her, that he would a53 have spared no labour, by which he might get at intelligence to guard her against the snares he suspected were preparing for her. He knew too well she was no match for Raleigh in talents, experience, or temper. A fortnight passed in these anxieties. He mused,- and read; and rambled in the fields and woods. Lady Arabella wrote to him, that she had had very angry letters from the Court; and that the Cavendishes, with whom she was living, had altered their whole conduct to her; and had become excessively harsh; and when she complained, hinted that they were acting under orders , which they dared not disobey . She intreated him to come to her; but said, that he must do it secretly. This necessity of secrecy made him. !i54 for her sake, as well as his own, resolve to refrain from the visit. He wrote a very cautious , but gentle and kind answer ; in which he intreated her to be patient , reserved , solitary , and as far from the most remote appearance of any concern with public affiiirs of any kind as he well knew that she was from the reality. It was utterly impossible to write such a letter without inserting some allusions purposely vague. This arose principally from a desire to guard her against Raleigh; whom yet it would have been an indeli- cacy, and perhaps a breach of friendship, to name. In a few days from this lime a letter was brought him, in the hand of an acquaintance, with whom he had been familiar in Burleigh's office, which filled s55 him "With astonishment and horror. It re- lated that Raleigh, Cobham, Grey of Wilton, etc. and their accomplices, had been committed to the Tower for High Treason. The conjectures regarding the nature of the Plot were endless. One of the reports was, that it concerned to mo- vements made for the purpose of putting Lady Arabella upon the throne. This was in every respect a shock to "Willoughby , to which at first all his fortitude gave way. He saw in it a com- plication of dangers and evils , which reflection did not diminish! One of the first suggestions of his heart was to pay a visit to Raleigh in the Tower. But many objections occurred before he could put this into execution. He had several letters from friends j some real, some perhaps a56 only calling themselves by that sacred name, warning and imploring him to weigh with the utmost prudence every step he took; to suffer no generous ebul- lition of indignant courage to lead him into useless appearances of any privity with those implicated in the present charges; and to hint that his ruin was meditated, if the slightest opportunity was given . All tin's intelligence agreed minutely with his own suspicions. He had already seen the danger, that might hereafter arise from his accidental interviews with Lady Arabella ; and from the moment he first encountered Raleigh , when he ca- me to visit him in his retreat , he anti- cipated gloom and evil from it. His prudence for once prevailed ; and he went not at present to the Tower. 257 He yielded to Lady Arabella's intreaties; and paid her one \isit. She was in a per* feet maze ; she wept incessantly ; and her senses seemed a little flighty. No- thing could be more evident to "\\ illou- ghby's acute understanding , than that nothing had passed between Raleigh and Her, of the treasonable scheme of which, he was accused. But she lamented in bitter words, that with whatever entire freedom from all political intrigue and all desire of public life she acted , her name was always involved in some pe- rilous matter; that it was bandied about to serve the ambition and plots of others: and that she suiiered all the evils of ambitions , without its good ; and all the privations of solitude, with- out its tranquillity. What comfort had Willoughby to 2^58 give her? He felt too strongly, that these remarks were well founded. No light penetrated his own bosom ; it was all unbroken despondence! A State- system had been adopted , which scar- cely left the possibility of escape to those, whom the directors of Power were desirous to sacrifice. The horrid thought crossed him , that it was inten- ded to sacrifice the life of Lady Ara- bella. He guessed not why. If it was the iutention to sacrifice Raleigh , he less wandered at it. « Your spirit is fled, Sir Ralph Wil- loughby " cried Lady Arabella: « your resources fail, when I had expected to have found a sure anchor in your ad- vice! " All that Willoughby could an- swer was : « Deserve well , Lady Ara- bella ! Keep your conscience ; and your 2 : JC) actions clear, as vou have hitherto done! The rest is in the hands of Providence! » He returned to his solitary cottage. It is perhaps only in the deepest grief that solitude is dangerous. Profound anxiety , and a kind of feverish Des- pondence, preyed upon his mind. Hither- to all had cone \vr0n2: with him through life. He entered into a severe self-exa- mination. He could not charge himself with any great faults; nor with any very obvious errors. He had endeavou- red to act uprightly, honourably , and generously. He had always on his con- science, and in his heart, the remem- brance of the most perfect and the most comprehensive of all moral duties: the rule of Doing, as he would be done by. H ; s sagacity forced upon him that , of which the conviction suak his bosom into the most oppressive melancholy , that the most virtuous part ofh is con duct had been most in the way of his success in the world. It is to say one thing, when you mean another; to ap- pear most pleased , when you are most angry : to speak but kindly , when you mean to commit the greatest injury; to ap- pear to pay deference to the opinions of others, yet secretly to defeat them all you can; to betray and take advantage of the knowlegeyon thus derive: on all occasions to wear a mask:onno occasion to postpone self-interest to any other object! These are frightful assertions; but $ alas, they are frightful truths! If they seem to impeach the ways of Provi- dence , it must be recollected , that the ways of Providence are mysterious and hidden to Man's finite capacity ! %6i Vnth these Convictions han£rin& with the weight of death upon his energies, he made e\ery effort to summon up his magnanimity. He still persevered in Lis literary occupations . But his fancy of course took a still more sombre cast. He attempted to raise himself above all sublunary anxieties, and af- fections. This g?ve an extraordinary sublimity to some of his Fragments: but it also gave them sometimes a great obsrurity. They became too much detached from human interests; and travelled among the clouds with too spiritual and evanescent an am- bition . Cobbans wrote him a letter, break- ing out into all the waitings of an ab- ject heart ; mixed up with passages of cunning and subtlety, which added 262 to Ins pain in reading it . Cobhani had mistaken his point : it was in- tended to convince Wi Hough by of his entire innocence : it had the effect of making him suspert, that there really had been some tampering somewhere . The young Lord Grey of Wilton also wrote him a letter, which made a very different impression on his feel- ings . This unfortunate youth recurred to the conversations with him in Which wood Forest. He lamented that be had not been practically a better convert to Willoughby'a opinions : that he had not withdrawn himself from the world; and relied upon the plea- sures of nature ; and the tranquillity of a private life. His youth ; some excellent traits in his character^ and the antiquity and lu»tre of the family a63 which Lord Grey represented , made \A il lough by deeply sympathise with his present ill fortune . Reflection could, alas, give little satisfaction to him on this painful subject. All was dark and perple j l in his conjectures. He had no doubt that the charges were false in the extent to which public report carried them: but his private suspicions that Raleigh had been carrying, on something of which advantage could be taken, were \ery harassing to him . He was sure that no power, which Salisbury could acqu're over him, would be lost; and there was a hollow iniquity in the Times, which rendered all uncertain ; and a trust even in innocence but a frail anchor . The anxious period » that interven- £64 ed till the Trial of these accused Po- liticians, preyed upon Willoughby's mind ; wore his health; and interrupted all t-he occupations that could enliven or soothe solitude. The time of Trial at length came: every cultivated English reader is fa- miliar with that Trial. Raleigh too inconsiderately summoned Willoughby as a witness, to prove certain alibis . In his eagerness for self-liberation, he pressed certain questions, which appear- ed to Willoughby entirely superfluous; while they seemed to raise an infer- ence that he was in the confidence of the other to an extent that was utterly untrue . Willoughby caught the eye of Sa- lisbury; and saw how deeply this struck him . Salisbury now seemed 265 inclined to press hard questions upon WillonghW : Raleigh fired: he saw the imprudence he had committed ; and endeavoured to redeemit by another yet more inconsiderate . He seemed to be leading to an examination of the history of Willoughby's life , by way of proving that he had been of an opposite Faction: and therefore that if lie had had any treasonable schemes in ngication, \\ illougtiby conld never have been chosen as his confidante! He alluded to Essex : he put a ques- tion . that seemed to touch on the circumstances of his death ! Salisbury turned so pale , and trembled so. that his emotion was visible to many spec- tators . When W illoughby's examination ceased, there was a buzz through the 12 •z66 Court . The audience were inclined to receive him with a shout of ap- plause, if they had dared. A. murmur ran through the Court : « what a gal- lant spirit! what a noble form! what talents and expression ! how conside- rate ! how firm, and undaunted ! how worthy of his friend Raleigh's best genius ! but how much gentler, and kinder, arid mellower, in his looks and his thoughts ! » The murmur passed the walls of the Court. As he came into the open air , tbe crowd shouted : and full of insults and menaces. Some of the auditors were staggered; others suspected the dreadful deception : all saw the danger ! Willoughby stood undaunted : but pale. He could not con- ceal from himself the perils, to which this ineffable act of wickedness, medi- tated at his life, exposed him! The Sun went down ; yet the pro- secutors had not closed their case. The Trial was adjourned to another day. It was well for the audience > whose fee- q5o '. beet k^pt on the nrkj till : ! m- I ! with ej tv ottd labour to graut _ till \ I tkt* p ? th ♦ t th^y \ w \ - i • ■ V I . th*> D-: iT^le b S ■ r > (combined ■ • ■ • d*re the m ' ' '■ _ indaroii h'rn * ranst able and . iserted that Raleigh did nothing " ^ bins; a th^t bii recommendation tb and a good person prompted I avail himself gladly of the influence he was likely to obtain over Lsdy Arabella, 30 bend her to the treasons 1 ; in which sbe v- c un- til! -nslrurner.t of tW 1 Joughby's i. 1 - - Arabella, which could not be d; and the enigmas of RaleL to him , ecriibined to : ■ ■ : . - MaJble innendos to some of tl in his sketc); the II f n Time; and to many of the al- ii - huioaf of l :be E [ Poem of Alt' some cf the c methicg like a j . _•. . of Evidence' The— • 2&2 ked up a disposition to give credit to the intercepted letter : and then the proofs seemed complete! Willoughby's Counsel rebutted all the circumstantial part of this Evidence as they sou Id ! It unfortunalely hap- pened , that he fell into the hands of men , who were rather mere drudging lawyers, than men of genius and lite- rature ! They had little personal know- lege of him ; his native charaeter ; or habits. Probably , they could not have Comprehended them , if they had ! The Counsel for the Crown replied with bitterness; and they had all the advantage over those of the Prisoner in point of ability. When Sir Ralph was called on to speak for himself, he addressed the Court with au heroic dignity; and in a82 a strain of the most exalted eloquence. He passed over all the technical sub- tleties , (au omission which made a chain of the most irrefragible arguments go for noth'ng in the minds of the lawyers); and appealed to the unso- phisticated understandings of his au- dience; to the sympathy of noble bo- soms; to those feelings, which the bad consider as delusions, but which , when genuine , never yet misled the judge- ment . His melancholy , his despondence , his indifference to life, gave him aug- mented iorce of talent. The Court so- metimes rung with the deep and mellow tones of his voice ; and every heart , that had sensibility, burst into agonies of tears at the frequent intermixture of pathetic appeals, into which, as if s?4 against his will, he fell , in tones so overwhelmingly guileless ; so utterly beyond the suspicion of affectation , that two Of three of the simplest words, two or three slight accents, pierced like lightning through the whole au- dience . He explained the import of many of his MSS. He declared them to be materials for his Epic poem ; and with an indignant force of explanation he gave an account of those , which were intended to form part of his Cotfin- porary History. He ad m it ted that in first sketches intended for private exa- mination lie might now and then have used colours , which on more sober thought required softening. He said that truth was his first object. Jf His- tory was not truth , was it not worse a85 than idleness ? " It is the pen of the Historian , that often, though not ofteu enough , holds a terror over inebriated Power! " said he. "My pen may be suppressed : " Iip went on : '' its traces, ] know , are already doomed to des- truction; and the hand, that has gui- ded it, is destined to be stopped from a continuation of its memorials by a cruel and undeserved death! It will not avail! The day will arrive, when the truth shall be told ; even though it be at the distance of two hundred years! Some tender Spirit at length shall catch my flame ! My mantle shall descend upon him! He shall tell, what 1 am not permitted to tell , when the mouth that stops me shall for ages have moul- dered into the dust whence it sprung; and shall be ouly remembered in the 2$6 colours which Truth shall have de- creed to belong to it! " — The Au- dience trembled for him. He perceived, that his indiguation was carrying him beyond the bounds of prudence! He had a difficult part to manage in the relation of the nature and degree of his intimacy with Raleigh. He was too generous to attempt his defence , even when the truth justified him , at Raleigh's cost. He knew not how to deal with the letter of Raleigh , he- cause there really w<>s a mystery in it, though lie was not privy to the secret. He now and then electrified Salis- bury by generous appeal-, to bim , which made him doubt his own dee pi y- -rooted suspicions. But darkness, f< i ar, and cruilty, soon resumed their ascen- dancy over Salisbury's heart. 2$7 At the close of this eloquent and magnanimous Defence, there -was not a disinterested auditor, that doubted Willoughby's innocence ! The Court Was appalled : and a dreadful silence of many minutes cnsned ! — The Chief Justice then began to sum up. He was embarrassed at the com- mencement by W i Hough by 's dignified and overpowering eloquence. He knew that be had an audience strongly pre- judiced against him to contend with. The jargon of pedantic law and forced constructions with which he mixed up his summary of facts, was not merely dull and repulsive , but disgusting. He then launched out into an invective against what he called the abuse of abilities; against those, who instead of takiug the patient course of labour to 238 elevate themselves, chose to attempt to gratify their ambitious desires , with- out paying the price for this gratifica- tion! who embraced a course of adven- ture and political intrigue, that they might leap into power! who addressed the imagination, and the passions, when they ought to appeal to reason ! and who supposed that a few splendid sentences of school-boy flourish would overcome proof; and make black ap- pear white! "When he had said these things, he congratulated himself, as if he had pronounced oracular wisdom ; and was surprized to find that his supposed arutencss and solid sagacity had made no impression on the Audience; and that their impatience and disgust were nearly breaking into outward and loud a8g disapprobation ! When he came to his conclusion , he charged the Jury almost with threats, telling them that in his opinion the facts charged had been clearly pro- ved j and if proved, that it was his duty as a Judge to tell them , that not a scintilla of doubt could be en- tertained, that they amounted to the crime of Treason. He conjured them not to be led away by their feelings into false mercy to a young man, be- cause he could make a plausible speech! That they owed mercy to those , whose lives and properties were endangered by conduct so wicked and ruinous as that of Willoughby and his accomplices ! That if they believed him to have ta- lents, the severity of justice was on that very account the more demanded from 12 thetu ; That if they were affected by his oratory , it only made him an ins- trument of evil the more necessary to be got rid of! At length the Verdict of the Jury was pronounced. They brought in the Prisoner, Guilty. The Audience heard this Verdict, with mute astonishment, or rather with a groan ! AVilloughby stood firm. His coun- tenance was pale; but dignified. When asked, if he had any thing to say, before sentence was prononnced , he bowed. The Audience listened with breathless suspence. A word quivered on his lips. His deep and mellow voice then rose a we fully on the Court. : ' I submit with patience! All that speech can do , is useless. If language could prove innocence, I venture to assert that I have already proved it. But my lot is cast ! I can no longer contend with the power of Man in its wantonness ! I leave the Court ; and the Jury to their own consciences ! The day may come , when they may wish themselves as self-satisGed in that res- pect as I am! My Lords, in the midst of troubles and tempt itious I have led a life of entire political purity! — The great and prosperous Minister , whom I see yonder, and who once honoured me by the name of FiTcn^l , knows ltj or ought to know it! If his heart does not tell him so, here, prisoner as I am , found guilty of a Capital Crime by a Verdict which History will record with astonishment, I venture to tell 292 him firmly, that I pity that heart! — It is done! I am prepared for my fate ! I know , there is no mercy in the breast of Man! " — He stood upright ; and firm as a rock in the midst of the bellowing storm ! The Audience burst into convulsions of tears. A stern observer perceived that Willoughby was nearly overcome by this mark of sympathy. lie noticed the agitations of his countenance. The usual sentence of High Treason Was now pronounced \ too painful to be here repeated. Sir R'dph was then conveyed back to the Tower, to feed upon his own a £)3 dreadful reflections! —It was time to eradicate from his heart all earthly- ties ! It is only whf-n we are about to lose a blessing, that we begin to know its value . But was existence a blessing to Willonghby? To him it was surely almost all hopeless suffering. Yet it was not all suffering: even to him! The hues of bliss more brightly glow, Chastised by sabler tints of woe " * What ineffable happiness had been pressed into a few of his happier mo- ments of life ! How more than dou- bled was the enjoyment of those mo- ments of bigh intellect, and unmingled Gray . 294 Innocence and -virtue ; which had no after-regrets ; of which the retrospect was as exquisite as the instant of their presence ! But the day approached , when a ■violent and unmerited death was to close this magnificent scene of things to a Being, who so exalted it by his abode upon it ! How can I write in adequate lan- guage the train of exalted sentiments and reflections, which passed in the mind of this most enlightened and sub- lime young Man , at this crisis of unexampled injustice and cruelty! I am come to the close of my vo- lume : and it has fallen upon me at a period , when my health and spirits are in a state of great depression; and when my time is not at my eommand. 2 fp I have beguiled some of the snuVrings during the three months' confinement of a painful malady by these memo- rials. I go to see " the Eternal City ; ? ' the mighty relics of " the fallen Me- tropolis of the World ! " * Spirit of Him , whom I have thus undertaken , at the distance of more than two Centuries, to consecrate to pos- terity, forgive me, that I thus desert thee in the agonies of Death ; that I attend thee not to the scaffold ; and Abose Baccano the postillions stopped; and pointing to a pinnacle, that appeared between two hills ? exclaimed Roma ! ' That pinnacle was the cross of St. Peter! The " Eternal City rose before us ! " EUSTACE i. 388. 2C)6 th.it I shrink from the description of thy last heroic moments, more glorious than all the rest of thy glorious life ! Lei the reader supply my deficiency! If Ke surveys thy splendid character With half the admiration w«h which I contemplate it ; and pities thy fate with only a part of my sympathy, he will satisfy thy manes ! FINIS Florence 20 April) 1820. LATELY PUBLISHED I. Coningsby , A Tragic Tale : Interspersed with Poetry. By Sir Egerton Brydges , Bart. Geneva. Printed , Oct. 1819. One volume, 12. I I. Lord Brokenhurst : A Tragic Tale. By the Same . Geneva. Printed Aug, 1819. One small volume, ia.° sg8 III. The Population and Riches of Na- tions considered together, with refe- rence both to political Strength , and to Morals. By the Same. Geneva. Printed Au*. 1819. One volume , 8.° V In this Treatise the Principles of- the Poor Laws ; the Corn-Laws ; the Circulating Medium ;* and Taxa- tion ^ are all discussed. PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION A LIFE OF PETRARCH. Drawn from original authorities ; especially his own Latin Works. It is scarcely necessary to observe that Mrs. Dcbson's life of this Poet is a mere blundering and tasteless abridge- ment of Abbe De Sade's Memoirs , by a Person utterly unqualified for li- terary criticism _, aud ignorant of literary history , THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $1.00 ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. MAR 191941 frArtsMtiKf | O * Y T (\ ir f ^ '' J"\ • LD 21-100m-7,'39(402s — a •i— i a, a> '—i o o f. 14168 £ ~q THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY